THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Moonshine.— PAGE  133. 


STORIES  AND  BALLADS 


FOB  YOUJ^G   FOLKS. 


By    ELLEN    TRACY    ALDEN. 


(Copyright,  1879.) 


NEW   YORK: 

BOOK     EXCH-AJSTG-E, 

TRIBUNE  BUILDING. 

1880. 


7 


CONTENTS. 


Neighbor  Edith 4 

Castle  Marvel 13 

A  May  Morning 18 

Patches  and  Perseverance 26 

Kate's  Great-great-Grandmother 34 

In  the  Woods 47 

The  Old  Monsieur's  Story 61 

Butternut  and  Blue 73 

A  Secret 77 

Consolation 87 

Julie,  Julien  and  Oncle  le  Capitaine 94 

The  Voices 129 

Moonshine 132 

Sunshine 136 

Czar  and  Carpenter 144 

Queen  Mabel -. 1G6 

Princess  Gerda 174 

Jungenthor,  the  Giant 188 

Little  Florence .  208 


ii  CONTENTS. 

PACK. 

A  Centennial  Tea-pot 214 

In  Lilac  Time 218 

Blue  Ey%s 221 

The  Apple-Gathering 222 

Good-by,  Little  Bird 223 

He  Will  Come  Back 224 

Katy 226 

Marie 228 

The  Banjo 231 

Winsome  Maggie 233 

A  Happy  Pair 235 

Siga  Veegs  Ofer 238 

The  Child  on  the  Battle-Field 239 

Pinkety-Wiukety-Wee 242 

Puss  in  a  Quandary 243 

Lena  Laughed 244 

'Tis  the  Apples 245 

Fooled 2*6 

A  New  Toy 247 

Charley  on  Horseback 248 

Cruel ! 249 

Cluck,  Cluck  ! 250 

Bobbie  and  the  Bee. . .                                                                  .  250 


NEIGHBOR    EDITH. 


The  north-west  wind,  driving  feathery  flakes  of  snow 
before  it,  heaps  up  gray  masses  of  cloud  over  the  sunny 
afternoon,  and  then,  as  if  bent  on  subduing  what  cheeri- 
ness  remains  among  the  shadows  it  has  brought,  howls 
dismally  down  the  chimneys,  moans  at  the  casements 
dismally.  The  Lieutenant  throws  himself  down  on  the 
lounge,  and  draws  a  long  sigh.  Kate  slips  quietly  out 
of  the  room,  catches  up  her  shawl  and  hat  from  the 
rack  in  the  hall,  and  her  brother,  hearing  her  go  down 
the  steps  into  the  street,  wonders  where  she  is  bound 
for,  and  why  she  didn't  say  something  about  it,  and 
then  falls  back  into  his  gloomy  reverie. 

"It  may  be  '  sweet  for  one's  country  to  die  ' ;  but  to 
live  on,  a  shattered,  helpless  wreck" — and,  at  the 
thought,  he  gripes  the  curving  frame  of  the  lounge  with 
his  one  hand,  and  his  firm-set  lips  quiver  ;  when,  sud- 
denly, without  tho  faintest  footfall  to  indicate  the  ap- 
proach of  any  one,  two  little  arnife  creep  about  his 
neck,  and  between  silv«ry  peals  of  laughter  a  shower 
of  kisses  falls  over  forehead  arid  sightless  eyes,  ori 


4  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

either  cheek,  on  nose,  mouth  and  chin.  "  There  !  "  cries 
a  childish,  laughing  voice,  "I  surpized  you,  didn't  I? 
Ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  echoes  the  Lieutenant,  coming  directly 
from  a  horizontal  to  a  sitting  posture,  his  arm  around 
the  wee  mite,  "  so  you  did  '  surpize  '  me,  midget.  And 
where  did  you  come  from  ?  Did  you  drop  out  of  the 
sky?/' 

"  Out  of  the  sky !  "  repeats  the  little  maiden,  with  a 
great  deal  of  scorn  and  emphasis.  "Why,  I  corned  right 
from  our  house !  Katy  corned  after  me,  and  we  went 
round  to  the  back  door,  so  you  wouldn't  hear,  and  then 
Katy  took  off  my  shoes,  and  I  corned  up  on  tiptoe  in 
my  stocking-feet.  Ha,  ha  !  I  surpized  you,  didn't  I  ? 
I'm  go'n  to  'gin  !  "  and  away  she  rushes  across  the  room 
and  back  against  him,  pell-mell,  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  kisses  raining  all  over  his  face.  "  There !  how  do 
you  like  it?"  and  the  room  rings  with  her  musical 
laughter — in  which  the  Lieutenant  once  more  joins, 
with — 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  I  must  confess  that  I  haven't 
the  least  objection  to  the  proceeding." 

"  Young — fa-day  !  "  is  the  slow  and  scornful  rejoin- 
der ;  "  young  Za-dy !  Why,  I'm.  a  little  girl !  " 

"  Why,  so  she  is,  just  a  mere  baby." 

"A  6a-by  !  (the  italics  are  to  mark  the  emphasis)  I'm 


NEIGHBOR    EDITH.  5 

four-years-old  big !  /'m  no  6a-by !  "Willie's  tlie  baby. 
He's  got  a  new  tooth  !  That  makes  three — six — five ! 
He's  got  five  teeth!" 

"  You  don't  say !  And  what  is  this  Edith  has  in  her 
hands — a  doll  ?  " 

"Yes,  it's  my  dolly." 

"  What  curly  hair  she  has.  And  this  ruffled  affair — 
is  it  an  apron?" 

"  An  a-pron  !     It's  an  over-skirt !  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon !  an  'over-skirt,'  is  it  ?  So  she's 
a  fashionable  doll.  What  might  be  her  name  ?  " 

"  Guess." 

"Keturah?" 

"No." 

"Jerusha?" 

"No." 

"  Mary  Ann,  Sacharissa,  Sophia,  Clarissa,  Joan,  Me- 
lissa, Eloise,  Elizabeth,  Jane — 

"No-o-o-o-o! " 

"  Victoria,  Eugenia,  Augusta,  Paulina,  Virginia,  Au- 
relia,  Geraldine,  Mollie — 

"Yes!  Mollie!  that's  what  it  is;  but  none  of  your 
other  old— elephants.  There,  you're  laughing!  You 
knowed  what  it  was  all  the  time ;  you  was  only  per- 
tendin'.  You've  seen  my  dolly  before," 

"  Where'  sKaty?" 


6  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"She  stayed  down-stairs  to  pop  some  corn  for  me 
and  you." 

" Shall  we  go  down  and  see  her  do  it?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Yery  well."  And  the  Lieutenant,  rising,  manages  to 
shift  little  dot  up  to  his  shoulder.  "  There,  now,  you're 
a  feather  on  top  of  a  barn-door." 

"  You're  not  a  barn-door !  " 

"What  am  I,  then?" 

"You're  my  brave  captain  boy."  (That  was  in  a 
whisper.) 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  you,  are?  You're  my  little 
angel."  And,  holding  her  carefully,  he  goes  down  the 
stairs,  feeling  his  way,  now  and  then,  with  the  remnant 
of  an  arm  in  his  dangling  right  sleeve. 

"I'm  almost  through,"  cries  Kate,  from  the  kitchen, 
her  face  all  aglow  with  the  heat.  And  Edith,  from  her 
lofty  perch,  watches  the  few  yellow  kernels  that  are 
nearly  lost  sight  of  in  the  bottom  of  the  wire  corn- 
popper,  after  a  shake  or  two  over  the  hot  coals,  sud- 
denly— "  Snap,  snap,  snap  !  "  and  look !  it  is  full  to  the 
brim  with  something  white  and  savory,  which,  seasoned 
with  salt  and  the  least  bit  of  butter,  she  deals  out  (with 
great  fairness  and  impartiality)  to  herself  and  her  "  cap- 
tain boy,"  after  they  have  gone  up-stairs  again.  By 
and  by  a  thought  strikes  her,  . 


JSfEIGHBOK   -EDrTH.  V 

"Katy,  my  doll  hasn't  got  any  apron." 

"Why,  so  she  hasn't.  We'll  have  to  make  her  one, 
won't  we  ?"  And  a  box  of  ribbons  and  laces  and  pieces 
of  silk  is  produced  from  somewhere,  and  the  two  sit 
down  on  the  floor  near  the  Lieutenant's  chair,  talking 
all  the  time  and  planning  out  this  wonderful  apron. 

"Now  which  of  all  these  colors  does  Edie  like  best?" 
asks  Kate. 

"Well,  I  think  the  red's  the  nicest." 

So  an  apron  (with  pockets,  observe !)  is  soon  manu- 
factured out  of  a  bit  of  a  broad  scarlet  sash,  and  braid- 
ed, too,  with  white  silk  braid ;  and  straightway  on  it 
goes,  in  feverish  haste  (one  is  anxious  to  study  the 
effect,  you  know),  over  the  stylish  (but  serene)  Madem- 
oiselle's black  satin  gown.  (The  effect  isn't  bad.) 

After  due  admiration  from  Edith,  some  other  diver- 
sion is  in  order,  and  a  book  of  engravings  is  brought 
for  inspection.  As  the  leaves  are  turned  for  her  she 
glances  for  an  instant  at  one  picture  after  another,  giv- 
ing the  word  to  proceed ;  but  they  finally  come  to  some- 
thing over  which  she  pores  a  long  while — so  long  that 
Kate  is  passing  to  the  next  without  waiting  for  the 
"Go  on"  from  little  Miss,  when  the  latter  immediately 
takes  the  book  into  her  own  hands,  returns  to  this  pic- 
ture, and  continues  to  gaze  at  it.  "What  does  it 
mean?"  at  length  she  asks. 


8  STORIES    AND    BALLADS. 

"Had  I  better  tell  her?"  Kate,  in  an  under-tone, 
questions  of  her  brother.  "It's  Gustave  Dore's  'The 
Deluge' — people  and  wild  beasts  huddled  together 
upon  a  rock  rising  out  of  the  waste  of  water,  and  the 
great,  lashing  waves  reaching  up  for  them  greedily, 
like  wide-mouthed  monsters.  Odd,  isn't  it,  that  she 
should  notice  it  so,  among  so  many  more  attractive 
prints?  She  wouldn't  be  likely  to  comprehend  if  I 
were  to  explain,  would  she?  Good,  there  goes  the 
tea-bell !"  And  Kate  closes  the  book,  glad  of  an  excuse 
to  escape  telling  the  story  of  the  flood  to  this  blithesome 
little  being,  whom,  she  has  a  dim  notion,  it  might  give 
bad  dreams. 

Seated  at  the  supper-table,  and  elevated  to  the  com- 
mon level  by  aid  of  three  sofa-cushions,  Edith  for  a  few 
moments  bestows  particular  attentions  upon  a  sauce- 
plate  of  canned  peaches,  to  the  utter  disregard  of  more 
substantial  food.  After  which  she  sits  back  in  her 
chair,  and,  inclining  her  head  toward  her  hostess,  whis- 
pers— 

"  Some  of  the  cake,  if  you  please." 

"  But  you  haven't  eaten  your  bread  and  butter  yet ; 
eat  that  first,  and  then  you  shall  have  some  cake." 

"I  want  it  now,"  responds  the  small  person,  with 
much  firmness,  and  is  directly  supplied  with  the  de- 
sired article — a  measure  which  might  meet  with  pro- 


NEIGHBOR    EDITH.  9 

test  if  Edith's  mamma  were  present.  No,  it  wouldn't, 
either,  come  to  thin.k  of  it,  for  Edith's  mamma  knows 
what  are  Kate's  ideas  concerning  sweetmeats.  Has  she 
not,  on  a  similar  occasion,  heard  her  express  herself 
after  this  manner  ?  — 

"  If  unfeeling  people  will  persist  in  denying  dainties 
to  the  wee  folks,  they  may  just  keep  the  stuff  out  of 
sight.  Set  it  right  where  the  poor  little  things  can 
watch  it  with  wistful  eyes,  and  then  pass  it  around  to 
the  favored  few,  but  for  them — '  No,  you  can't  have  any. 
It  isn't  healthy  for  you  !'  If  grown-up  people  can't 
deny  themselves  such  things,  they  haven't  any  right  to 
expect  the  children  to.  To  require  children  to  show 
more  strength  of  character  than  they  have  themselves ! 
— oh,  it's  a  downright  shame  !  And  then,  leaving  open 
the  places  where  the  forbidden  fruit  is  kept,  and  when 
the  midgets  climb  up  the  closet-shelves  and  take  a  bite, 
on  the  sly,  finding  fault  with  them  !  Leading  them  in- 
to temptation  (and  isn't  that  what  responsible  people 
even  pray  to  be  delivered  from  ?)  and  then,  when  the 
poor  little  things  fall  into  the  very  trap  they  have  set, 
finding  fault  with  them,  and  lecturing  them,  and  all 
that  nonsense  !  Oh,  it's  a  cruel  shame  !  " 

The  speaker,  you  see,  is  the  children's  zealous  advo- 
cate ;  and,  little  people,  if  ever  there  is  anything  you 
especially  covet,  or  if  ever  you  get  into  trouble,  just  go 


10  STORIES    AND    BALLADS. 

to  her.  She  will  plead  your  cause  with  burning  cheeks, 
and  flashing  eyes,  and  such  withering  eloquence  that 
the  stern  household  judges  will  not  fail  to  relent. 

But  it  is  after  dark,  and  the  snow  is  falling  heavily, 
and  mamma  will  want  her  little  Edith  home.  So  Kate 
sets  forth  with  her  small  charge,  well  wrapped  and  pro- 
tected from  the  cold — although  they  have  but  a  few 
steps  to  go,  as  Edith  lives  in  the  next  house. 

When  Kate  returns,  her  brother's  voice  greets  her 
from  the  parlor  with — 

"  Sukie,  heard  of  the  last  new  poem  ?  " 

"No.     What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  an  epic! — a  grand  affair — second  only  to 
the  Iliad!" 

"  Strange  I  haven't  heard  of  it,  isn't  it?" 

'•'No,  not  so  very;  it  hasn't  come  out  yet." 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  it  ?  Some  one  been  in  while 
I  was  gone  ?  " 

"Yes." 

" Do  tell  me,  what  is  it  about,  and  who  is  it  by?  " 

"  It's  about  a  child,  I  believe — but  modesty  forbids 
my  mentioning  the  name  of  the  author." 

"  Ah,  you  old  rogue,  I  see  what  you're  driving  at  !— 
you've  been  having  a  call  from  the  Muse." 

"Bather  from  some  poor  vagabond  tricked  out  in 
her  cast-off  mantle,  you  mean." 


NEIGHBOE    EDITH.  11 

Kate  goes  and  stands  behind  the  high-backed  arm- 
chair, and  toys  with  her  brother's  jetty  locks.  (Are 
they  not  her  pride  and  consolation — those  clustering 
curls  ?  Not  all  the  flying  bullets,  and  slashing  sabres, 
and  ruthless  cannon-balls  could  rob  him  of  those — no, 
nor  the  weary,  wasting  sickness  that  followed  the  pri- 
vations and  exposure,  and  left  him — blind.)  "  Come, 
now,  "Wallie,  stop  joking,  and  let  me  have  the  verses, 
won't  you?" 

And  so  this  is  what  "  Wallie  "  says  about 

"NEIGHBOR  EDITH." 

Alas  !  I  cannot  see  what  hue  her  eyes  are, 

Nor  yet  the  color  of  her  silken  hair ; 
Tho' — thought  consoling  ! — if  I  could,  I  fear  me 

She'd  be  less  lavish  with  her  kisses  rare. 

I  know  her  lips  are  dewy  as  the  rose-bud 

"When  first  it  wakes,  the  flush  of  dawn  to  greet ; 

Her  breath  it  fans  my  face  like  early  zephyr 
Up  from  the  Southland  roving,  warm  and  sweet. 

Her  bird-like  voice  in  simple,  childish  chatter, 
No  better  music  need  you  care  to  hear — - 

Unless  it  be  the  music  of  her  laughter, 

Like  rillet,  gurgling  now,  now  tinkling  clear. 

And  when,  in  short-lived  moods  of  thoughtful  silence, 
You  feel  her  tiny  form  against  you  lean, 

Or  when  anon  her  dainty,  dimpled  fingers 
Come  creeping  trustfully  your  own  between, 


12  STORIES   AND    BALLADS. 

Somehow  there's  soothing  in  the  touch,  you  fancy, 
A  secret  charm  for  sending  grief  astray: 

I  half  believe  she  is  a  born  magician — 

This  wee,  wee  elf  the  wind  could  blow  away. 

And  that  is  Edith,  that  is  neighbor  Edith, 
Our  winsome  friend  the  other  side  the  stile. 

When  we're  sad-hearted  and  the  days  are  dreary, 
We  go  and  borrow  her  a  little  while. 


CASTLE    MABVEL. 


"  Heigho-ho  !  "  yawned  Harry,  who  liad  dropped  in 
one  evening,  and  curled  himself  up  in  his  favorite  nook, 
the  chimney-corner.  "  I  wish  books  had  never  been 
invented,  or  schools  either,  for  that  matter.  I've  been 
digging  away  at  one  of  ^Esop's  fables  for  the  last  two 
hours,  and  I  can't  make  any  sense  out  of  it  at  all.  It's 
a  lot  of  stuff  about  some  doves  and  hawks  that  got  to 
fighting ;  but  whether  the  doves  eat  up  the  hawks  or 
not,  how's  a  fellow  going  to  find  out?  And  I  got  stuck  * 

in  my  algebra,  too,  and  I  shaVt  have  a  single  decent 

( 

lesson  to-morrow,  and  then  old  Williams  '11  give  me  a 
lecture  and  a  zero,  and — well,  a  fellow  gets  disgusted 
with  that  sort  of  thing  for  a  steady  diet.  Oh,  I  tell  you 
I'll  be  glad  when  once  I'm  out  of  school,  and  the  pesky 
business  is  done  with  !  What's  the  use  of  it,  anyhow? 
I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  go  another  day." 

"  But  the  time  would  be  apt  to  hang  pretty  heavily 
on  your  hands,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'd  find  plenty  to  do  to  fill  up  the  time,  never 
you  fear !  Now  all  these  splendid  days,  along  back, 

(13) 


11  &TOPJE8  AND  BALLADS. 

wlien  I  ought  to  Lave  been  clown  at  the  rink,  skating, 
and  there  I  had  to  sit  in  that  stupid  old  schoolroom, 
moping  over  a  desk !  It  makes  me  mad  to  think  of  it. 
But  I  came  over — I  got  so  tired  studying.  I  thought 
maybe  you'd  have  some  story  or  other  to  tell,  Lieuten- 
ant." 

"  A  story ;  what  is  there  you  haven't  heard,  I  wonder  ? 
I'm  afraid  my  stock  of  stories  has  about  run  out.  Let 
me  see,  though, — have  you  ever  heard  about  Castle 
Marvel?" 

"  A  castle  !  that's  the  kind  I  like — about  castles  !  no, 
I  never  heard  it." 

"  Well,  this  was  a  famous  castle  that  stood  upon  a 
high  mountain,  and  that  people  sometimes  went  to  see. 
Among  the  rest,  there  went  from  a  certain  city  a  com- 
pany of  youths.  Now,  their  route  lay  across  a  sunny 
plain  that  was  like  a  very  fairy-land ;  flowers  covered 
it  with  every  hue  of  the  rainbow,  and  over  these  hovered 
clouds  of  golden-winged  butterflies ;  and  in  the  shady 
groves  zephyrs  sang  and  birds  caroled  as  never  sang 
zephyrs  or  caroled  birds  anywhere  else. 

"  And,  so,  many  of  the  youths  tarried,  saying,  '  It  is 
pdeasant  here  ;  let  us  gather  roses  ;'  or, '  Let  us  chase 
butterflies ;'  or,  '  Let  us  lie  down  under  the  wide- 
spreading  branches,  and  listen  to  the  music  overhead.' 
The  others,  hastening  onward,  reached,  at  length,  the 


CASTLE  MAIIVEL.  I* 

foot  of  the  mountain,  and  began  to  ascend.  But  to 
climb  this  mountain  was  by  no  means  an  easy  task ;  for, 
while  in  somo  places  it  was  very  steep,  in  others  a  per- 
pendicular''and  seemingly  impassable  wall  wquld  con- 
front the  weary  traveler  ;  and  there  were  chasms,  too, 
which  must  be  crossed ;  but  over  most  of  these  bridges 
had  been  built ;  and  where  the  way  was  steep  and  slip- 
pery steps  had  been  hewn  among  the  rocks ;  and  up 
the  granite  walls  places  had  been  cut  for  hands  and 
feet ;  and  all  this  had  been  done  by  travelers  who  had 
previously  ascended — aye,  with  untold  hardships,  and 
often  at  the  risk  of  their  lives.  But  now,  in  climbing, 
so  had  the  way  been  opened  before  them,  these  youths 
met  with  no  peril,  only  with  labor  and  weariness,  here 
and  there.  And  yet,  ever,  a  3  they  toiled  upward,  would 
one  and  another  turn  back,  discouraged,  to  rejoin  the 
comrades  below,  declaring  that  the  sight  of  the  castle 
was  not  worth  so  much  pains. 

"Now  to  these  pleasure-seekers  in  the  flowery 
meadows  after  a  time  returned  the  venturesome  few 
who  had  succeeded  in  gaining  the  summit,  and  they 
were  greeted  with  loud  cries  of  astonishment — for  be- 
hold, their  faces  shone  wondrously,  flooded  as  if  with 
light,  and  they  seemed  Tike  beings  from  another  world. 

"'Tell  us,  what  have  you  seen,  or  what  have  you 
heard,  that  your  countenances  should  be  thus  altered  ?  ' 
demanded  the  curious  throng. 


1G  ST02IES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  '  All,  friends,'  replied  the  others,  '  would  that  we 
might  tell  you  the  half  of  what  we  have  seen,  the  half 
of  what  we  have  heard.  Truly  marvelous  is  this  castle 
which  we  have  visited,  and  beyond  the  power  of  words 
to  describe.  We  may,  indeed,  relate  to  you  how,  from 
its  windows,  we  beheld  the  fair  earth,  from  pole  to  pole, 
spread  out  before  us  in  new  and  undreamed-of  beauty  ; 
how  we  found  secret  stairways  which  led  us  to  the 
burning  heart  of  this  same  earth  ;  how,  through  mys- 
terious passage-ways,  we  were  guided  to  the  silent  and 
strangely-peopled  valleys  of  the  sea  ;  how,  by  tower  and 
turret,  we  mounted  to  dizzy  heights,  from  whence  we 
could  peer  in  among  the  stars,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  glory  lying  beyond ;  how  all  the  way,  from  lowest 
foundation-stone  to  loftiest  pinnacle,  they  who  went  up 
before  us  had  carved  inscriptions,  revealing  in  what 
manner  the  world  has  fared — even  from  its  creation ; 
how,  passing  to  and  fro,  our  questions  were  answered, 
our  doubts  were  quieted,  and  we  were  filled  with  such 
delight  as  is  only  known  to  them  who  go  up  thither — 
this  much,  and  more  we  may  relate,  and  yet  but  a  faint 
idea  will  you  have  of  that  mighty  structure.  Oh,  friends, 
so  vast  it  is,  so  wide,  so  high, — so  deep  down  extend  its 
massive  walls,  that,  though  one  should  wander  a  life- 
time within  its  gates,  still  many  portions  would  be  un- 
known to  him  ;  so  free  and  open  to  all  it  is,  that  whoever 


CASTLE  MARVEL.  17 

will  may  abide  there,  continually  feasted  and  royally 
entertained  ;  so  magnificent  it  is,  that  whether  you  go 
up  or  down,  whether  you  follow  corridors  that  lead 
on,  and  ever  on,  or  loiter  in  spacious  treasure-halls, 
golden  is  the  ceiling,  crystal  is  the  pavement,  riches 
and  splendor  meet  you  at  every  turn,  and  you  tread 
upon  diamonds  which  are  yours  but  for  the  picking  up  ; 
and  what  is  most  marvelous  about* the  castle  is  this — 
the  more  of  these  rare  jewels  that  are  gathered  and  car- 
ried away,  the  more  remain.' 

"  Then  the  idlers,  seeing  their  companions  laden  with 
precious  gems,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight,  could  not 
doubt  the  trathfulness  of  this  report ;  and  they  said : 
'  Let  us  go  up  also,  to  be  enriched,  and  to  see  those 
wonderful  sights.'  But  when  they  began  to  climb  they 
discovered  that  their  strength  had  departed,  and  that 
their  eyes  were  dimmed  so  that  they  could  not  find  the 
path ;  and  they  now  first  became  aware  of  how  the 
years  had  flown  while  they  had  been  lingering  among 
the  pleasant  fields,  and  that  in  the  feebleness  of  age 
they  were  no  longer  able  to  mount  upward.  And  they 
sat  down  and  wept  with  regret,  and  nevermore  ceased 
sighing,  because  of  the  years  they  had  wasted  below." 

"There's  a  Hcec  fabula  docct  to  that  story,  I  suspect," 
said  Harry,  good-naturedly,  aft'er  staring  awhile  at  the 
fire.  "  But  I'll  forgive  you,  as  it's  the  only  one  of  that 
sort  I  ever  heard  you  tell." 


A   MAY   MORNING. 


It  is  one  of  those  first  bright,  pleasant  days,  so  wel- 
come after  the  rains  and  clouds  that  follow  the  long 
siege  of  winter.  With  the  sunbeams  so  warm,  and 
the  air  so  soft  and  balmy,  who  can  choose  to  stay  in- 
doors? The  Lieutenant  draws  his  chair  out  to  the 
porch,  and  is  presently  joined  by  Harry,  who  mounts 
the  railing  and  proceeds  to  relate  an  adventure  he  had 
the  other  night.  . 

"  You  see  we  were  out  on  the  lake,  fishing — -a  lot  of 
us,  and  we'd  caught  about  a  dozen  trout,  when  up  come 
a  storm — a  regular  gale.  Boat  capsized ;  out  we  went 
into  the  water.  Rain  pouring  down  in  torrents,  and  so 
dark  you  couldn't  see  your  hand  before  you.  Tell  you 
we  had  to  swim  for  it.  But  we  got  ashore  at  last,  and 
they  took  us  in  at  a  house  close  by,  and  dried  our 
clothes  for  us,  and  gave  us  some  supper,  and  wo  had  a 
regular  jolly  time  of  it,  after  all." 

"Yes,  I  hoard  about  that  excursion  of  yours  from 
another  source,  and  about  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Harry 
who  saved  another  boy  from  drowning.'' 


A  MAY  MORNING.  19 

"No!  did  you,  though?  Well,  you  see  he  didn't 
know  much  about  swimming,  and  it  was  my  doings,  his 
going  with  us,  and  if  anything  had  happened  to  him 
I'd  have  bsen  to  blame.  But,  I  tell  you,  I  thought  one 
time  there  we  were  both  goners,  sure.  Hallo,  Edith!" 

"  See  my  new  hat ! "  she  cries,  climbing  up  the  steps. 
"  I  and  mamma  bought  it  down  street  this  very  morn- 
ing. See,  it's  all  trimmed  with  blue  ribbons ! " 

"Yes,  it's  really  pooty.  There  comes  Marie  Maross 
with  her  instruction  book ;  she's  been  taking  a  music 
lesson.  Say,  Marie,  come  in  and  sit  down,  won't  you? 
You  look  tired.  Professor  cross  this  morning?  " 

"Yes,"  responds  ^Marie,  readily  accepting  the  invita- 
tion. "  He  says  I  don't  half  practice  my  lessons,  and 
it's  no  such  thing !  I  practiced  a  whole  half  an  hour 
yesterday,  and  on  those  wretched  scales,  too !  they're 
enough  to  drive  one  distracted." 

Harry  glares  at  the  gate-post  as  if  it  were  the  pro- 
fessor himself,  and  he  is  about  to  express,  in  strong 
terms,  his  poor  opinion  of  professors  of  music  gener- 
ally, when — 

"Che!  cheree!  cheree!  te-hee,  hee,  ha,  ha,  ha!" 
laughs  Robin  Redbreast  among  the  budding  branches 
overhead.  What  is  he  cocking  his  shrewd  black  eye  at 
the  two  on  the  steps  below  for  ? — looking  for  all  the 
world  as  though  he  had  seen  them  before  now — passing 


20  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

notes  to  each  other  in  that  "  horrid  old  school-room," 
when  "  Old  "Williams  "  wasn't  watching. 

But  hush,  you,  Sir  Robin,  and  hush,  every  one. 
Marie  lifts  her  hand  to  impose  silence ;  for,  see,  there 
is  a  wee  gray  sparrow  prospecting  about  a  moss  basket 
hanging  in  the  porch,  evidently  in  search  of  a  good 
building  site. 

But  here  comes  the  mail-carrier,  who  cannot  stop  for 
such  trifles.  As  he  rapidly  approaches  Mrs.  Sparrow 
flies  away. 

Kate,  who  has  been  setting  out  tulip-bulbs  in  her 
flower-beds  in  the  back-yard,  comes  to  look  over  the 
letters.  This  one,  from  a  small  boy,  she  reads  aloud: 

DEEB  COZEN  KATE 

an  Walter  i  can't  find  ennything  but  this  led  pen- 
cil to  rite  with  fur  they're  housecleening  an  the  inks  all  spillt  on 
the  carpit  an  the  pens  lost  an  the  paper  lockt  up  in  the  riting 
desk  an  nobody  can  find  the  kee  and  Briget  shes  cross  she  sez  ive 
got  to  stop  running  all  over  the  flore  whare  she  scrubd  it  and  so  i 
tore  this  page  out  of  my  gografy  whare  it  isnt  printid  i  most 
made  a  bote  to  sale  on  our  pond  fur  its  chuckfull  ov  water  an  some- 
body swept  it  up  an  thru  it  into  the  fire  when  I  get  to  be  a  Man 
an  have  a  house  ov  my  own  I  wont  have  enny  housecleening  going 
on  never.  BOB. 

"  Them's  my  sentiments  exactly,"  says  Harry.  "  It's 
been  just  so  at  our  house  now  for  a  week.  Every- 
thing's topsy-turvy,  and  you  can't  find  a  place  to  rest 
the  sole  of  your  foot.  And  cross  ?  my !  I  thought  Ann 


A  MAY  MORNING.  21 

would  take  my  head  off,  this  morning,  when  I  tumbled 
against  her  mop-pail  and  tipped  it  over." 

"  Will  you  please  give  these  to  Mr.  Walter?  " 
It  is  bashful  little  Bessie,  on  her  way  home  from  a 
ramble  in  the  distant  wood,  who  whispers  in  Kate's  ear, 
as  she  offers  a  bunch  of  spring  beauties  gathered  there, 
and  blossoms  plucked  from  a  wayside  apple-tree.  Mr. 
Walter  receives  them  with  a  smile  of  recognition,  for 
who  does  not  love  the  odor  of  apple-blossoms  ? 

The  blushing  Bessie  is  straightway  reassured  and 
gratified  by  the  following  fable  improvised  for  the  occa- 
sion : 

Once  on  a  time,  in  early  dawn  of  summer, 

Among  the  trees  the  question  chanced  to  rise — 
"Which  of  us  is  the  fairest,  the  most  comely  ?  " 
A  towering  pine  tree  boasted  in  this  wise: 

"Behold  me,  all  ye  puny  ones,  behold  me  ! 

Look  at  my  shoulders  reaching  to  the  sky! 
Look  at  my  tasseled  mantle — green  forever  ! 
How  can  ye  doubt  or  question  ? — here  am  I! 

A  stately  elm  tree  upward  gazed  a  moment, 

In  acquiescence  bent  her  regal  head: 
"Aye,  thou  art  tall  and  gayly  decked,  my  brother, 
But  I  have  more  of  symmetry,"  she  said. 

A  languid  willow,  musing,  softly  murmured: 
"  Yes,  shapely  is  the  elm,  and  tall  the  pine; 
But  see,  oh,  friends  (she  made  a  sweeping  courtesy), 
You  must  admit  that  gracefulness  is  mine." 

"All,  well,  that's  not  the  point,"  replied  a  maple; 
"  'Tis  not  of  grace  we're  talking,  not  at  all; 


22  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

And  as  for  form,  why,  I  am%ell  proportioned: 
And  as  for  height,  why,  one  may  be  loo  tall." 

"Hold  !  "  cried  a  tulip  tree;  "  am  I  not  shapely  ? 

And  illy  would  the  pine  tree's  tassels  green 
Compare  with  these  broad  leaves,  so  smooth  and  shining, 
Or  with  l^he  bells  of  bloom  that  swing  between  !  " 

"Conceited  fools  !  "  a  gnarly  old  oak  grumbled; 
"Bragging  of  your  fine  clothes  and  shape  and  length  ! 
Bah,  with  your  silly  prate  and  idle  prattle  ! 

There  is  most  beauty  where  there  is  most  strength  !  " 

At  that  a  plain,  ill-favored  tree  took  courage, — 
"  And  I,  too — I  am  rugged  !  I  am  stout  ! " 
The  little  saplings  sidelong  glanced  and  giggled, 
The  grown-up  trees  did  toss  their  heads  and  shout; 

And,  one  and  all,  they  laughed  and  laughed  together, 

And,  one  and  all,  together  did  they  say : 

"  Oh,  listen  !  ugly  scrub  lays  claim  to  beauty  ! 

Who  ever  heard  the  like  before  to-day  !" 

But  Mother  Nature  frowned  at  their  derision, 
Seeing  the  humble  tree  with  grief  downcast; 

Her  wand  she  lifted — lo  !  the  slighted  claimant 
In  comeliness  all  other  trees  surpassed  ! 

A  downy  robe  the  knotted  limbs  enveloped, 

In  folds  whose  fragrance  thrilled  the  wond'ring  air — 

A  robe  of  pale,  rose-tinted  blossoms  woven  ! 
Arcazed  and  breathless  did  the  scoffers  stare. 

And,  one  and  all,  they  turned  from  jest  and  laughter, 

And,  one  and  all,  together  whispered  they: 
"  Behold,  behold  the  garment  of  our  brother  ! 
Who  ever  saw  the  like  before  to-day  1 " 


A  MAY  MOKNING.  23 

• 
Since  then,  alway,  in  early  dawn  of  summer, 

Dame  Nature  lifts  lier  wand  the  trees  to  shame 
Who  envy  him  that  wears  the  apple  blossoms 
And  wish  they  had  not  mocked  his  modest  claim. 

But  listen — will  you '? — to  this  score  of  lads  and  lasses, 
Bessie's  companions  (freed  from  school,  for  it  is  Satur- 
day), who,  laden  with  wild  flowers  and  mosses  and  ferns, 
have  meanwhile  established  themselves  on  the  steps, 
and  are  chattering  like  a  flock  of  blackbirds  : 

"  Oh,  we've  had  lots  of  fun,  and  I'm  awfully  tired. 
Will  you  believe  it  ?  I  ran  over  a  snake  !  Dear  me, 
how  scared  I  was !  "  (A  girl,  of  course.) 

"  Sho  !  you  needn't  have  been  afraid  of  such  a  harm- 
less little  snake  as  that ;  I'd  just  as  soon  take  it  up  in 
my  hand  as  not !"  (A  boy,  of  course.) 

"Why  didn't  you,  then?  Ha,  ha!  I'd  like  to  have  seen 
you." 

"  See,  Marie,  what  a  pretty  toad-stool  I  found,  all 
scarlet  inside ;  and  Fred,  he's  got  a  lot  of  snail-shells 
in  his  pocket." 

"  If  I'd  only  had  a  gun  along  I  could  have  popped 
over  two  or  three  red  squirrels." 

"  Oh — h — h !  it  would  be  cruel  to  kill  the  dear,  sweet, 
cunning  little  creatures." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  puss ;  he  couldn't  fire  off  a  gun 
to  save  his  life," 


24  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Oh,  the  quantities  of  Bobolinks  we  saw  in  the  mea- 
dows !  If  you  could  only  have  heard  them  sing — " 

Ting-a-ling, 
Ting-a-ling,  ling. 

Everybody  stares  at  the  apparition.  He  has  stolen 
a  march  upon  them — that  little  tawny  Italian,  down 
there  in  the  street,  gazing  up  at  the  merry  group,  with 
a  weary  sort  of  smile,  as  his  slender  fingers  toy  with 
the  strings  of  his  instrument,  bringing  forth  many  a 
plaintive  air.  Soon  the  music  ceases,  and  the  tattered 
hat  is  passed  around.  But  he  may  not  go  yet ;  his  audi- 
ence is  clamoring  for  a  song.  "  An  Italian  song,"  cries 
Marie.  And  so,  to  the  accompaniment  of  his  guitar,  he 
sings  in  his  native  tongue  a  little  ballad  which  runs 
something  after  this  fashion  : 

Wandering,  wandering  all  the  world  over, 

Hither  and  thither,  and  to  and  fro, 
Free  as  the  wind — the  rollicking  rover, 

Lightly  humming  and  thrumming  I  go. 

Free  as  the  wind  to  linger  and  tarry, 

Free  as  the  wind  to  hasten  afar, 
All  my  wealth  in  my  hands  I  carry — 

Look,  behold  it — my  gay  guitar  ! 

Gold  and  houses  and  lands  encumber, 

Never  king,  in  his  palace  high, 
Slumber'd  as  sweetly  as  I  slumber, 

Under  the  clear,  unclouded  sky. 


A  MAY  MOKNING.  25 

Free  as  the  wind,  the  rollicking  rover, 

Little  of  trouble  or  care  I  know, 
Wandering,  wandering  all  the  world  over, 

Hither  and  thither,  and  to  and  fro. 

And  off  he  goes  with  his  merry  song,  and  his  weary 
smile,  and  his  pockets  jingling  with  pennies ;  and  is 
succeeded  by  a  fair-haired  Norwegian,  with  a  basket  on 
his  head,  crying,  "  Oranges,  oranges !  " 

Harry  rushes  down,  and  buys  him  out  of  the  stock  in 
hand,  and  before  any  one  has  time  to  protest,  begins  to 
treat  the  assembled  company.  So  it  was  for  this  feast 
"vhat  the  round,  golden  fruit  has  been,  all  these  months, 
masking  and  ripening  and  gathering  fragrance  and 
sweetness  from  the  rays  that  gladden  a  land  of  perpet- 
ual summer. 

"  What's  this — a  picnic  ?  "  asks  a  gentleman  in  uni- 
form, who  has  come  to  call  upon  the  Lieutenant.  The 
youngsters  follow  with  their  eyes  the  blue  coat  and 
bright  buttons  disappearing  through  the  open  door- 
way, then  they  slowly  disperse ;  and  Ponto,  the  great 
shaggy  Newfoundlander,  is  left  alone,  dozing  upon  the 
mat.  And  the  wee,  gray  sparrow  returns  with  a  wisp 
of  horse-hair,  and  commences  to  build  her  nest. 


PATCHES  AND  PEESEVEEANCE. 


"  There  goes  Patches  !  " 

"  Hallo,  Patches  !  " 

Sitting  in  the  porch,  in  the  twilight  of  a  June  after- 
noon, Kate  overhears  those  cruel  taunts.  "  Oh-h-h ! " 
she  exclaims  in  smothered  indignation,  the  hot  flush 
mounting  up  her  forehead. 

"  What  is  it,  sister  ?  "  asks  the  Lieutenant. 

"  Oh,  Walter,  there  are  some  boys  down  there  in  the 
street,  calling  names  at  a  little  newsboy,  and  making 
sport  of  his  poor,  patched  clothes.  And  he  looks  so 
downhearted  and  discouraged — poor  little  fellow  !  Oh, 
it's  too  bad !  I  wish  you  could  say  something  to  him 
to  comfort  him.  Mrs.  McAllister  was  telling  me  about 
them  the  other  day.  His  mother  is  a  widow  and  does 
washings,  and  there  are  other  children — he  the  eldest ; 
and  he  is  so  kind  and  thoughtful,  and  does  everything 
he  can  to  help  her ;  goes  around  town,  out  of  school- 
hours,  running  on  errands  and  carrying  newspapers.  I 
know  what  I'll  do  " — but  her  plan  for  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  is  suddenly  broken  in  upon  by  the  boy  ap- 

(2G) 


PATCHES  AND  PERSEVERANCE.  27 

preaching,  and  handing  her  the  evening  paper,  damp, 
jusfc  from  the  press. 

"How  many  more  of  those  have  you  to  deliver?" 
Walter  inquires. 

"  Only  about  a  dozen." 

"  Well,  when  you  get  through,  and  if  you  are  not 
otherwise  engaged,  I'd  like  to  have  your  company  for  a 
walk.  You  see,"  he  adds,  with  a  smile,  "  I  haven't  any 
eyes,  myself,  to  find  the  way  with ;  and  it's  such  a  fine 
evening  I  believe  I'd  like  to  go — yes,  as  far  as  the 
Park." 

The  boy  looks  up  into  the  blind  man's  face,  Kate 
thinks,  as  if  he  would  be  willing  to  go  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth  with  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  says, 
hurrying  away. 

In  one  corner  of  the  Park  there  is  a  shady,  secluded 
nook — a  clump  of  trees  all  overgrown  with  vines,  with 
rustic  seats  underneath.  As  Walter  and  his  companion 
rest  there  after  their  long  walk,  the  moonbeams  shining 
softly  down  between  the  leaves,  all  at  once  a  sob  breaks 
the  stillness,  followed  by  another  and  another,  and  then 
they  come  thick  and  fast.  Now  the  Lieutenant  does 
not  ask,  "What's  the  matter,  little  boy?"  as  a  great 
many  thoughtless  people  would ;  for  he  remembers 
very  well  that  one  doesn't  like  to  be  asked  such  ques- 


28  .STORIES   AND  BALLADS. 

tions  when  one  is  crying.  Besides,  doesn't  lie  know 
what  the  matter  is  ?  He  can  picture  to  himself  the 
wearisome  life  the  poor  child  leads — ill-fed,  ill-shel- 
tered, ill-clad,  half  the  year  pinched  with  hunger  and 
cold,  half  the  year  breathing  the  close,  pent-up  air  of 
some  wretched  tenement — in  his  brave  struggle  to  help 
his  widowed  mother,  not  always  able  to  find  work ; 
knocked  about  by  ruffian  newsboys,  sneered  at  by 
thoughtless  schoolmates,  little  heeded  or  noticed  by 
anybody ;  till  he  looks  downhearted,  as  Kate  says,  and 
the  very  tones  of  his  voice  are  grown  dreary  and  sor- 
rowful. Thinking  of  all  this,  the  Lieutenant  cannot  sit 
there  like  a  block  of  stone,  and  listen  to  those  stifled 
sobs.  So,  as  there  is  nothing  to  be  said,  he  leans  over, 
and  with  that  one  arm  of  his  about  the  slight  figure, 
draws  it  close  to  his  side. 

"  Oh,  you're  so  good  !  "  murmurs  the  tearful  voice, 
as  the  lad  rests  his  head  against  the  friendly  shoulder. 
"  It's  that  that  makes  such  a  baby  of  me.  I  can't  help 
it.  Other  folks  ain't  like  that.  Other  folks  don't  talk 
to  me  pleasant  about  this  and  that  as  you  did  all  the 
way.  Other  folks — oh!"  and  with  that  the  slender 
form  is  shaken  again  with  sobs. 

"  Ah,  but  those  other  folks  who  treat  you  so,  you  are 
going  to  make  them  sorry  for  it,  some  day." 

"  How  ?  "     The  dreary  young  voice  is  full  of  wonder. 


PATCHES  AND   PEKSEVERAJSfCE.  29 

"  How  ?  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  story.  Years  ago 
a  young  printer  went  to  New  York  City  to  find  work. 
He  hadn't  any  fine  clothes,  and  scarcely  any  money, 
and  I  doubt  if  in  all  that  great  city  there  was  a  single 
person  that  he  knew.  After  much  searching  he  found 
something  to  do ;  and  in  the  office  where  he  was  em- 
ployed the  other  printers  delighted  in  annoying  him, 
playing  jokes  upon  him,  and  daubing  his  light- colored 
hair  with  ink.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  this  sort  of  treat- 
ment made  him  feel  sad  and  homesick,  sometimes,  and 
wish  he  was  back  again  among  the  mountains  where 
he  came  from.  However,  he  paid  little  attention  to  it ; 
he  worked  all  day,  faithfully,  and  at  night  he  read  and 
studied  a  good  deal ;  and  when  he  couldn't  afford  to 
pay  for  a  light  to  study  by,  he  would  take  his  book  out 
by  the  street-lamp  and  study  there — sometimes  when 
it  was  cold,  too.  Wasn't  he  persevering  ?  "Well,  he 
worked,  and  read,  and  studied,  and  persevered,  till  he 
got  to  be  an  editor ;  yes,  in  time  he  became  the  most 
famous  editor — or  journalist,  some  would  call  it — the 
most  famous  one  that  ever  lived.  Last  fall  he  died — 
this  man  who  was  once  a  penniless,  friendless  boy — 
and  at  the  news  of  his  death  there  was  sadness  all  over 
the  country ;  and,  at  his  burial,  thousands  and  thous- 
ands of  people  crowded  those  same  streets  where  he 
used  to  read,  shivering,  by  the  lamp-light ;  thousands 


30  STOEJDES  AND  BALLADS. 

an  1  thousands  went  to  get  a  glimpse  of  his  dead  face, 
and  wept  over  it,  because  he  had  helped  them  and  they 
loved  him  a,nd  were  sorry  he  was  gone. 

"  Oh,  was  it  Horace  Greeley  ? "  the  lad  whispers, 
(lie  has  stopped  crying  now.) 

"  You  have  guessed." 

"I've  thought,  sometimes,"  says  the  boy,  presently, 
in  a  hesitating  way — "  I  never  told  it  to  anybody 
before — but  I've  thought  I'd  like  to  be  great,  too,  some 
time,  to  be  a  lawyer — and — and  go  to  Congress — and — 
oh,  I  never  told  it  to  anybody  before,  because  it's  fool- 
ish, I  know,  and  they'd  laugh  at  me.  I  can't  help 
thinking  about  it,  though.  But  of  course  there's  no 
hope  for  me." 

"  Ah,  but  there  is,  though  !  I  doubt  if  our  Vice- 
President  thought  there  was  much  hope  of  his  ever  go- 
ing to  Congress  when,  in  his  youth,  he  was  earning  his 
livelihood  in  a  shoemaker's  shop.  But,  you  see,  ho  kept 
pegging  away ;  when  it  wasn't  at  boots  and  shoes  it  was 
at  books,  at  gaining  knowledge,  and  making  the  most  of 
the  talents  that  were  given  him,  working  his  way  up,  inch 
by  inch,  till  he  became  congressman,  surely,  till  now  he 
presides  over  the  Senate.  And  our  President,  at  your 
age,  little  dreamed  that  he  would  ever  be  called  upon 
to  control  a  great  army,  to  plan  campaigns  and  sieges, 
to  '  fight  it  out  all  summer  on  thi-3  line,'  as  you  have 


PATCHES   AND  PERSEVERANCE.  31 

heard  about — persevering,  you  see — and  so  to  put  an 
end  to  the  bloody  war,  and  be  chosen  once  and  again 
to  the  highest  office  in  the  land — like  Washington,  long 
ago.  Yes,  it's  perseverance  that  does  it.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  Cyrus  Field,  the  man  who  brought  the  Old 
World  and  the  New  nearer  together  by  his  Atlantic 
cable  ?  When  he  first  proposed  to  do  it,  to  send  dis- 
patches through  two  thousand  miles  of  water,  that 
seemed  to  every  one  a  very  absurd  idea.  But  when  his 
cable  was  finished  and  ready  to  be  laid,  then  people 
began  to  be  interested ;  indeed,  they  were  really  ex- 
cited over  it,  and  it  was  quite  the  fashion  to  wear 
attached  to  one's  watch-chain  a  bit  of  that  gutta-per- 
cha cable,  set  in  gold.  But  the  cable,  or  telegraph, 
was  a  failure,  after  all ;  it  didn't  '  work.'  So  people 
disbelieved  once  more,  and  lost  interest  in  the  enter- 
prise, and  took  the  bits  of  gutta-percha  from  their 
watch-chains,  and  put  them  away  out  of  sight  and  of 
mind.  And  it  fared  with  the  experimenter  just  as  it 
fared  with  those  trinkets.  But  years  passed  by,  and 
lo  !  one  day,  to  everybody's  surprise,  the  President  re- 
ceived from  Queen  Victoria  a  polite  message  that  had 
taken  but  a  few  moments  to  cross  the  wide  Atlantic.  And 
now,  you  know,  Europe  and  America  can  talk  with  each 
other  almost  as  easily  as  you  and  I  here,  sitting  side  by 
side.  For  what  had  Cvrus  Field  been  doing  all  that 


32  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

time  that  nobody  took  any  notice  of  him  ?  He  had 
been  making  trial  after  trial,  and  failure  after  failure, 
and  losing  fortune,  and,  very  likely,  friends,  but  never 
losing  hope.  So  he  persevered — and  succeeded,  at  last. 
And  who  does  your  history  say  discovered  America?  " 

"Christopher  Columbus." 

"  Well,  this  Christopher  Columbus  of  whom  all  the 
histories  tell  and  everybody  knows,  he  was  only  a 
sailor  boy,  once,  roving  about  in  the  Mediterranean, 
with  small  chance  of  ever  becoming  noted.  As  little 
chance  would  it  seem  there  was  when,  years  later,  he 
went  from  court  to  court,  vainly  asking  aid  to  carry  out 
his  project.  People  had  hardly  begun,  yet,  to  credit 
the  notion  that  the  world  was  round ;  and  this  tall,  sad- 
eyed,  white-haired,  shabbily  dressed  stranger,  with  his 
maps  and  his  charts,  and  his  plans  for  sailing  straight 
West  to  India,  wiio  was  going  to  listen  to  him  ?  Kings 
and  queens  were  unwilling  to  see  him  o,r  give  him  an 
opportunity  to  explain,  courtiers  ridiculed  him,  chil- 
dren in  the  street  would  point  to  their  foreheads,  as  he 
passed  by,  and  call  out  to  each  other,  'Look  at  the 
crazy  Italian! '  But  often  disappointed,  always  hoping 
and  persevering,  he  stuck  to  his  project,  and  finally, 
after  eighteen  long  years  of  waiting  and  fruitless  effort, 
he  got  the  help  he  wanted  and  started  on  his  voyage, 
and  so  found — not  India,  but  America." 


PATCHES  AND  PEKSEVERANCE.  33 

And  as  the  Lieutenant  and  his  young  guide  walk 
slowly  homeward  through  the  silent,  moonlit  avenues, 
he  speaks  of  Lincoln,  of  Herder,  of  Ferguson,  of  Bee- 
thoven, of  Sir  William  Herschel,  and  of  others  who 
have  risen  from  poverty  and  obscurity  to  honor  and 
renown;  many  of  them  "self-made,"  as  it  is  called, 
toiling  patiently  and  unaided  up  that  steep  hill  where 
the  laurels  grow. 

Kate  hears  the  hopeful  ring  in  the  lad's  voice  as  he 
says  "  Good  night "  to  his  friend,  and  through  the  open 
window  she  sees  the  hopeful  expression  upon  his  face 
as  he  turns  away,  glancing  down  rather  proudly  at  the 
jacket  that  is  mended  with  pieces  of  many  shades,  and 
the  boots  that  have  been  patched  and  patched  again. 
"  What  can  you  have  been  saying  to  him,  Walter  ?  "  she 
wonders.  "  Oh,  if  you  could  only  have  seen  his  face 
just  now  !  He  doesn't  look  like  the  same  boy."  And 
Walter  musingly  repeats  those  lines  with  which  every 
"  wide-awake  "  American  boy  and  girl  is  familiar.  For 
was  it  not  Longfellow  who  wrote  them  ? 

"Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  may  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time  ; 

"  Footprints  that  perchance  another, 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
Some  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again." 


34  STORIES  AKD  BALLADS. 

When,  just  before  breakfast,  Kate  opens  the  door  to 
look  for  the  morning  paper,  what  does  she  find  lying 
there  on  the  threshold  beside  it?  Fresh  water-lilies — 
the  like  of  which  are  not  to  be  found  nearer  than  the 
lake — miles  away.  "He  has  been  all  that  way  and 
back,  this  morning !  bless  his  little  heart ! "  she  ex- 
claims, in  astonishment,  as  she  carries  them  to  her 
brother,  breathing  a  thousand  sweetest  "  Thank-you's," 
from  among  their  snowy  petals.  And  you  may  be  sure 
that  those  patched  garments  will  soon  be  replaced  by 
others  nice  and  new. 


KATE'S    GREAT-GEEAT-GEANDMOTHER. 


"  I'd  like  to  know,"  exclaims  Marie,  "  if  there  weren't 
any  heroines  as  well  as  heroes  in  the  time  of  the  Revo- 
lution. Now  down  there  in  the  Park  to-day,  while  they 
were  having  their  orations,  and  Mr.  Higby  got  to  talking 
about  the  Revolution — " 

"  Come  now,"  breaks  in  Harry,  "  you  don't  mean  to 
pretend  you  heard  a  word  he  said !  " 

"  Indeed  I  do !  I  listened  first-rate — along  at  first. 
Katy,  mustn't  he  stop  interrupting  ?  Well,  all  I  was 
going  to  say  was,  that  when  he  got  to  talking  about  the 
Revolution  it  was  all  about  the  forefathers  that  he  got 
so  eloquent,  and  never  a  word  about  the  mothers  !  As 
if  they  weren't  patriotic,  too,  and  of  some  account !  Don't 
you  suppose  they  were?  " 

"Kate,"  slyly  observes  her  brother,  "  here's  another 
fine  opportunity  for  you  to  hold  forth  on  the  subject  of 
your  great-great-grandmother." 

"  Ah  !  just  as  though  you  weren  \  every  whit  as  proud 
of  her  as  I  am  !  " 

"  Oh,  my !  did  you  have  a  great-great-grandmother  ?  " 

(35} 


36  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

cries  the  enthusiastic  Marie.  "Do  tell  us  about 
her." 

"Yes,  do,  Miss  Katy,"  says  Harry,  seconding  the 
motion  as  he  watches  a  sky-rocket  shooting  upward, 
leaving  a  gleaming  train  as  it  curves  "through  the  air. 
For  this  is  the  evening  of  the  "  Glorious  Fourth,"  and 
the  speakers  are  all  out  in  the  porch,  where  a  good  view 
can  be  had  of  the  display  of  fireworks  down  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  street. 

"  Well,  then,  Harry,  you  know  about  the  battle  of 
Cowpens,  in  South  Carolina?  " 

"  Yes,  where  the  British  thought  they  had  won  the 
day,  sure,  and  Morgan  brought  up  his  dragoons,  and 
they  cut  and  slashed  right  and  left,  and  put  the  Red- 
coats to  flight,  and  took  a  lot  of  prisoners." 

"  What  are  dragoons  ?"  inquires  Marie. 

"Mounted  troops — cavalry.  Oh,  but  didn't  they 
pitch  into  'em  good  with  their  swords  !  Wish  Td 
been  there." 

"  And  then  you  know,  Harry,  how  Cornwallis  pur- 
sued Morgan,  in  hopes  of  recovering  the  prisoners ; 
and  how  General  Greene  had  .to  come  to  Morgan's 
rescue.  By  the  way,  Walter,  I  don't  know  exactly  why, 
but  somehow  all  I  hear  of  Sherman  in  the  last  war  re- 
minds me  of  that  General  Greene." 

"  And  did  your  great-great-grand  mother  live  around 
there  anywheres  ?  " 


KATE'S  GREAT-GREAT-GRANDMOTHER.  37 

"  Yes,  Marie.  But  yon  mustn't  think  of  her  as  a  grand- 
mother  at  all,  with  gray  hair  and  cap  and  spectacles  ;  for 
she  was  only  a  young  girl  then.  There's  a  portrait  of 
her  painted  a  few  years  after.  They  have  it  at  Uncle 
Robert's — little  Rob's  father,  you  know.  There  she 
sits,  with  her  arms  folded ;  and  she  wears  a  brocade 
silk,  with  much  lace  about  the  low  neck  and  flowing 
sleeves ;  and  her  hair  is  combed  straight  up  from  the 
forehead  over  a  roll,  and  coiled  high  at  the  back  of 
the  head,  very  much  as  the  style  is  now — only  I  sup- 
pose it  was  all  her  own,  for  switches  hadn't  yet  been 
thought  of." 
•^  And  did  she  do  something  brave  ?  " 

"  So  the  story  goes.  She  was  an  orphan,  you  see, 
and  lived  with  her  uncle,  who  was  a  hot-tempered  old 
Tory,  and  all  his  sons  and  daughters  the  same.  But, 
perhaps  because  they  weren't  as  good  to  her  as  they 
might  have  been,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  be- 
lieve some  other  way — sympathized  with  the  rebels, 
you  know.  But  she  took  care  not  to  let  any  one  find 
that  out,  which  no  one  was  likely  to,  for  she  was  so 
young,  only  sixteen — just  two  years  older  than  you, 
Marie — people  wouldn't  be  questioning  her  about  pol- 
itics. Well,  it  was  just  at  this  time,  when  Cornwallis  was 
chasing  up  Morgan,  that  there  came  one  rainy  evening 
to  her  uncle's  a  small  detachment  of  British  troops', 


38  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

with  some  Americans  belonging  to  Morgan's  force 
whom  they  had  captured  the  day  previous,  and  asked 
for  lodgings  for  the  night.  Her  uncle  welcomed  them 
heartily,  and  gave  them  a  room  where  they  could  lock 
up  their  prisoners,  and  ordered  Chloe,  the  black  cook, 
to  get  up  a  grand  supper  for  them.  Grand  ?  I  don't 
suppose  it  was  what  would  be  called  a  grand  supper 
nowadays.  I  presume  it  consisted  largely  of  game 
from  the  forest,  venison,  and  the  like — not  much  in  the 
way  of  dessert  and  nick-nacks,  you  know.  While  the 
British  were  feasting  in  the  dining-room,  Kate — we 
may  as  well  call  her  Kate,  for  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that 
I  was  named  after  her — slipped  into  the  kitchen,  and 
managed,  unseen,  to  fill  a  basket  with  some  of  that 
plentiful  supper,  and  creep  with  it  up  a  back  stairway 
to  the  store-room  or  garret  at  the  top  of  the  house. 
Now  the  room  where  the  prisoners  were  locked  in  was 
in  the  second  story,  and  had  no  window ;  but  in  the 
ceiling  there  was  a  trap-door  that  opened  into  the  gar- 
ret. Kate  raised  this  door — or  rather,  it  was  a  mere 
piece  of  plank — and  let  down  the  basket  by  a  rope. 
And  the  prisoners,  looking  up  and  catching  sight  of  her 
friendly  face  by  the  light  of  the  candle  she  held,  were 
gladdened,  you  may  be  sure.  Ah,  poor  fellows,  and 
they  were  hungry,  too  ;  hadn't  had  a  mouthful  for  two 
days.  (Indeed,  they  had  been  oni  in  search  of  game, 


But  in  the  ceiling  there  was  a  trap-door  that  opened  into  the  garret. — 
PAGE  38. 


KATE'S  GKEAT-GREAT-GKANDMOTHEE.  39 

That  was  the  way  they  happened  to  be  caught.)  '  Was 
there  any  way  under  the  sun  for  them  to  get  out  of 
there  ? '  they  asked  her.  Yes  ;  she  told  them  of  a  way 
she  had  thought  of,  but  they  would  have  to  be  very  still 
about  it,  and  wait  till  everybody  in  the  house  had  gone 
to  sleep.  Then  she  closed  the  door  again,  but  she  was 
careful  to  take  the  basket  with  her,  lest  the  Red-coats 
might  look  in  before  retiring,  and  find  it  there  and 
suspect  something  was  wrong.  They  did  look  in,  too. 
There  were  the  prisoners,  all  secure.  Then  they  locked 
and  bolted  the  door  again,  and  for  further  security  sta- 
tioned a  guard  outside.  ^.When  Kate  found  out  about 
the  guard  she  trembled  for  her  plans.  But  toward 
midnight  she  peeped  into  the  hall  and  saw  him  nod- 
ding sleepily,  for  he  and  his  comrades,  as  well  as  their 
officers,  had  been  making  free  with  her  uncle's  wine. 
In  those  days  it  was  the  custom  to  keep  quantities  of 
wine  even  in  private  houses,  and  to  use  it  freely  at  the 
table." 

"Nothing  of  that  sort  going  on  nowadays  !  " 
"  I  am  sorry  to  say  so,  Harry,  but  I  suppose  there  is ; 
though  not  so  generally  the  practice,  I  am  sure — at 
least,  not  in  this  country.  Well,  Kate  crept  up  to  the 
garret  again,  by  the  same  way  as  before,  and  she  low- 
ered a  ladder — oh,  so  still ! — to  those  six  prisoners,  and 
one  by  one  thoy  climbed  up  softly  through  the  little 


40  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

trap-door  in  the  ceiling — oh,  it  was  just  the  least  mite 
of  an  opening,  hardly  large  enough  for  a  person  to  crawl 
through  ;  but  then  I  suppose  that  one  could  manage  to 
squeeze  through  a  pretty  small  space  for  the  sake  of 
regaining  one's  liberty— 

"  That's  so  ! "  says  Harry,  speaking,  doubtless,  from 
experience. 

"Now,  you  mustn't  interrupt  again!"  says  Marie; 
"  just  when  they're  all  climbing  up,  too ;  and  I'm  so 
afraid  that  sentinel  there  in  the  hall  outside  will  hear ! 
But,  oh,  Katy,  when  they're  all  up  in  the  garret  how 
ever  is  she  going  to  get  them  away  from  there  ?  Won't 
somebody  wake  up  and  hear  while  she's  getting  them 
all  clown  that  back  stairway  ?  " 

"No,  they  didn't  go  down  that  way.  You  see  this 
garret  was  used  for  a  store-room  for  flour  and  grocer- 
ies, and  the  like  ;  for  the  place  was  so  far  from  any  mill 
or  market,  that  when  they  sent  to  the  nearest  town  they 
used  to  purchase  all  those  things  in  large  quantities. 
So,  for  convenience  in  storing  away  articles,  a  stairway 
had  been  built  up  against  the  outside  of  the  house." 

"  Oh,  and  there  was  an  outside  door  to  the  garret ! 
What  a  dear,  delicious  old  house,  with  stairways  and 
trap-doors,  and  everything  all  fixed  just  right  to  help 
those  poor  prisoners  off !  " 

"  Now,  you  mustn't  interrupt  again  !  "  says  a  mock- 
ing voice. 


KATE'S  GEEAT-GBEAT-GEANDMOTHER.  41 

"  Down  they  went,  under  the  dripping  eaves ;  but 
when  they  reached  the  ground  and  held  a  whispered 
consultation,  it  came  out  that  they  hadn't  the  slightest 
idea  in  which  direction  to  go  to  join  their  commander  ; 
for  they  were  all  from  the  north,  and  perfectly  unac- 
quainted with  the  country.  '  Could  the  kind  young  lady 
give  them  some  directions  ?  '  'I  will  go  as  guide,'  she 
said.  So  they  helped  themselves  to  the  six  chargers 
of  the  six  British  officers  sleeping  snugly  under  her 
uncle's  roof,  and  she  mounted  her  little  sorrel  pony, 
and  away  they  went,  through  the  rain  and  the  darkness 
— slowly  at  first,  lest  the  trampling  of  the  horses'  feet 
should  be  heard,  which  likely  would  have  been  the  case 
but  for  the  ground  being  softened  by  the  rain ;  after 
that  they  dashed  along  swiftly  over  hills  and  through 
forests,  for  it  was  a  wild,  uncultivated  region  through 
which  their  route  lay.  After  riding  a  few  miles  they 
reached  a  rapid  stream,  so  swollen  by  the  freshets 
which  prevailed  just  then — it  was  in  January — so  deep 
and  rapid  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  the  soldiers, 
even  on  their  stout  war-horses,  to  ford  it,  for  there  was 
no  bridge.  Kate  and  her  little  pony  would  surely  have 
been  swept  awa}r.  So,  as  she  could  go  no  farther,  she 
told  them  as  clearly  as  she  could  how  they  were  to  turn 
to  the  right  at  such  a  cross-road,  and  to  the  left  at  an- 
other, and  to  the  right  again  when  they  came  to  a  cer- 


42  STORIES  AND  BALLADS.  .    . 

tain  old  church  ;  and  if  they  kept  straight  ahead  when 
they  came  to  a  certain  tall  pine  tree,  standing  all  alone 
by  itself,  they  would  reach  the  place  where  they  ex- 
pected to  find  Morgan.  (As  he  was  on  the  move  all  the 
time  they  couldn't  be  so  sure  about  that.)  So,  with  a 
'  God  bless  you ! '  from  the  leader,  which  all  his  com- 
panions echoed,  they  plunged  into  the  roaring  torrent, 
and  she  turned  back  through  the  forest — where  there 
were  fierce  bears  and  panthers,  mind  you  ;  but  fortu- 
nately the  rain  kept  them  in  their  dens  that  night. 

"When  she  reached  home,  all  was  as  dark  and  silent 
as  when  she  left ;  and  when  she  peeped  out  again  from 
her  room,  there  was  the  guard  nodding  as  before  ;  but 
not  really  asleep.  He  hadn't  heard  a  sound.  Poor 
fellow,  the  British  Colonel  and  the  rest  were  going  to 
have  him  shot  for  sleeping  at  his  post,  when,  next  morn- 
ing, they  found  the  prisoners  had  gone  and  the  horses 
too.  How  furiously  angry  they  were  !  But,  oh,  the 
uncle !  his  eyes  flashed  lightnings,  and  his  voice  was 
like  the  thunder.  Kate  was  wakened  by  his  raging  and 
storming,  with  all  the  black  people  up  before  him  to  be 
cross-questioned,  and  they  declaring  that  '  O  rnassa, 
dey  wouldn'  a-helped  dem  rebel  trash  away  fur  nuffin 
in  de  hull  worl' ! '  If  the}-  had,  their  lives  wouldn't 
have  been  worth  much.  Kate  knew  that,  or  she  might 
have  asked  some  of  them  to  assist  her.  She  meant  to 
bear  all  the  blame  herself." 


KATE'S  GEEAT-GEEAT-GEANDMOTHEE.  43 

"  Wasn't  she  a  trump,  though  !  " 

"  Yes,  Harry ;  but  she  trembled  like  a  leaf  all  the 
time,  dressing  herself  in  a  hurry,  and  rushing  out  to 
confess  before  them  all,  and  plead  for  the  sentinel's 
life.  'Oh,  he  wasn't  a  bit  to  blame!  he  didn't  go  to 
sleep  at  all,  for  she  looked  to  see !  "We  were  so  still 
about  it  that,  oh,  he  couldn't  hear !  and  oh,  don't  kill 
him,  don't ! '  And  then  she  almost  fainted  away.  But 
the  angry  old  uncle  was  angrier  than  ever.  He  ordered 
her  to  her  room,  and  never  to  show  her  face  again.  But 
just  at  this  point,  when  all  is  clamor  and  confusion,  and 
the  poor,  pale,  frightened  girl  is  being  dragged  off  in 
disgrace  to  her  chamber,  the  house  is  suddenly  sur- 
rounded by  the  combined  forces  of  Greene  and  Mor- 
gan (for  they  met  yesterday,  and  have  been  nearer  by 
all  the  time  than  was'supposed),  and  led  by  the  Amer- 
ican Captain  whom  she  released  last  night,  in  walks 
General  Greene  himself,  to  thank  her  for  her  brave 
deed  ;  and  when  she  is  led  to  the  window,  all  those  sol- 
diers— ragged,  weak  with  hunger,  as  they  are,  footsore 
and  weary  with  continual  marching — at  the  sight  of 
her,  just  toss  up  their  hats  (those  of  them  who  have 
any)  and  cheer,  and  cheer,  and  cheer.  And  the  British 
Colonel  and  his  men  are  prisoners  themselves  in  about 
two  seconds — 

"Oh,  jolly!" 


44  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"And  the  mad  old  Tory  uncle's  wine-casks  have  to  be 
tapped  again,  while  the  rebel  army  there  before  his  eyes 
drinks  to  his  niece's  health." 

"  Jolly,  jollier,  jolliest ! " 

"You  might  suppose  there  wasn't  enough  to  go 
around ;  but  you  must  remember  that  it  was  not  such  a 
very  big  army.  How  large  should  you  say,  Walter  ?  " 

"  Probably  not  a  larger  number  than  would  be  includ- 
ed in  two  what  in  our  last  war  were  considered  good- 
sized  regiments.  Hardly  that,  for  I  believe  Greene  left 
quite  a  force  behind  at  his  post  on  the  Pedee  river, 
when  he  pushed  across  country  to  join  Morgan ;  and 
his  whole  command  united  couldn't  have  amounted  to 
more  than  two  thousand." 

"  Just  think  of  it !  And  that  wee  little  army,  half- 
starved  and  poorly  clothed,  held  in'check  the  thousands 
of  Cornwallis  !  No  wonder  the  orators  grow  eloquent 
over  our  forefathers,  is  it,  Marie?  " 

"  But  about  Kate  ?  Did  that  horrid  old  Tory  of  an. 
uncle  shut  her  up  in  her  room  after  that  ?  " 

"Take  care,  Miss  Marie,  that  '  horrid  old  Tory  of  an 
uncle  '  was  a  distant  relative  of  ours." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  against  your  re- 
lations, Mr.  Walter  ;  but  then  everybody  knows  you 
aren't  a  bit  like  him,  if  you  are  a  tease  !  " 

"  No,"  Kate  goes  on,  "  they  didn't  shut  her  up  in  her 


KATE'S  GREAT-GREAT-GRANDMOTHER  45 

room,  but  she  was  treated  very  coolly  all  around  the 
board,  and  as  for  her  uncle,  I  believe  he  never  spoke  to 
her  again.  "What  made  him  particularly  indignant  was, 
that  the  British  prisoners  would  insist  that  he  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all,  and  had  set  the  trap  for  them  himself. 
They  had  reason  to  be  suspicious,  for  in  that  section 
one  never  conld  be  certain  who  were  Tories  and  who 
were  not,  so  many  of  the  people  wavered  in  their  opin- 
ions, favoring  the  royal  cause  one  day  and  the  rebels 
the  next.  Well,  to  wind  up  my  story,  Kate  was  so  un- 
happy there,  that  she  went  to  live  with  an  aunt  in 
Charleston  till  some  two  or  three  years  after,  when  the 
war  was  all  over,  and  she  married — " 

"  Oh,  wait,  let  me  guess  who  ! — the  American  Captain, 
now,  didn't  she  ?  How  romantic !  Then  he  was  your 
great-great-grandfather !  " 

"  Yes,  and  they  came  North,  and  lived  and  died  right 
where  Uncle  Eobert  lives  now — in  the  same  house, 
only  it  has  been  altered  several  times  since." 

The  mention  of  "Uncle  Robert"  reminds  Harry  to 
ask  if  Kate  has  had  any  more  letters  lately  from  her 
little  correspondent.  "Whereupon  she  produces  this 
one,  which  she  received  to-day  ! 

"DEAR  COZEN  KATE  AND  WALTER: — to-moros  the  forth  but 
my  Firecrackers  are  all  used  up  alreddy  but  I  don't  care  I  don't 
feal  much  like  sellibrating  enny way  you  see  Dick  Deen  and  Jimmy 


45  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Jeffers  an  me  we  thot  wed  have  sum  fun  so  we  toock  a  hunting 
horn  with  sum  powder  in  it  an  emptyd  it  onto  a  stone  an  set  a 
match  to  it  but  it  didnt  go  off  so  i  run  up  to  see  what  was  the 
matter  and  pop  off  it  went  rite  into  my  face  tel  yoo  it  made  me 
hop  an  everryboddy  screemd  an  run  for  the  Docter  an  he  cum  an 
sed  it  wood  get  well  after  a  while  and  then  he  an  papa  both  giggld 
but  i  coodnt  see  vrhare  the  fun  was  nor  mama  eether  she  sed  i  must 
rite  an  tel  you  about  it  it  wood  divurt  my  mind  but  to  be  careful 
about  my  Speling  an  the  rest  so  I  was. 

Affexshuntly  BOB." 

"Plucky  little  chap,  ain't  he!"  and  Harry  giggles 
too.  "  Divert  his-  mind !  ha,  ha  !  But  you  don't  know 
anything  about  how  it  burns.  I  got  my  hand  peppered 
that  way  once,  and  went  into  the  cellar  -where  it  was 
cool,  and  walked  the  floor  for  three  hours.  I  didn't  want 
any  one  to  find  out  about  it,  for  fear  of  a  scolding,  for  I 
expect  I  was  old  enough  to  know  better." 

But  Marie,  who  has  been  quietly  meditating  mean- 
while, suddenly  breaks  forth  with,  "  I  wish  /  had  lived 
in  the  time  of  the  [Revolution !  Then  I  would  have 
had  a  chance  to  do  something  brave." 

"  You  !  "  laughs  Harry.  "  I'll  warrant  it  would  scare 
you  half  to  death  to  hear  a  mouse  nibble  in  the  wall  at 
night."  Which  Marie,  blushing  guiltily,  cannot  deny. 

"Well,  anyhow,  I'm  going  over  home  to  find  out  if  1 
haven't  got  a  great-great-grandmother,  or  something." 


IN    THE    WOODS. 


"  Do  you  think  there  are  any  places  in  heaven  like 
this?" 

It  is  little  Bessie  who  whispers  the  question,  as  she 
lies  in  the  grass  at  Kate's  feet,  looking  up  at  the 
glimpses  of  sky  among  the  branches — glimpses  as  blue 
as  her  eyes. 

Kate  looks  up,  too.  Feathery-fine  are  those  branches, 
swaying  lazily  in  the  sunlight ;  lower  clown  they  grow 
darker  and  heavy  with  green,  till,  here  where  she  sits 
beneath,  everything  is  in  shadow.  She  glances  around. 
Long,  leafy  avenues  lead  down  the  glens  into  blackness, 
and  up  the  slopes  into  blackness,  and  away,  away  into 
blackness — the  blackness  of  massed  foliage  that  shuts 
out  the  world  beyond.  Can  the  grand  old  cathedrals 
they  tell  of  compare  with  this — nature's  temple?  Here 
are  the  lofty  columns — not  hewn  by  hands,  indeed ;  here 
are  the  airy  arches,  rich  with  leaf-work  tracery — not 
carved  by  hands,  'tis  true.  This  velvety  turf — can  any 
mosaic  pavement  surpass  it  in  beauty?  Hardly  can 

windows  of  stained  glass  let  in  a  light  more  mellow 

(47) 


48  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

than  this  which  enters  from  above.  She  listens.  Here 
and  there  a  tiny  rill  tinkles  along  the  ledges  ;  thousands 
of  little  birds  are  flitting  to  and  fro,  caroling  and  call- 
ing one  another ;  and,  like  the  sound,  when  heard  far 
off,  of  billows  surging  on  the  beach,  she  hears  the 
never-ceasing  sough  of  the  wind  among  the  trees.  Ah, 
this  wind,  how  cool  it  is,  how  fragrant!  stooping  to 
finger  her  hair.  And  there  is  the  sultry,  breathless 
August  down  in  the  city  below. 

Are  there  'any  places  like  this  in  heaven  ?  "  Yes," 
she  answers  at  last,  "  I  like  to  think  so.  Indeed,"  she 
adds,  "  it  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  though  this  world 
might  almost  be  heaven  itself,  if  it  weren't  for  some  of 
the  people  in  it." 

Just  now,  as  if  to  give  force  to  the  remark,  one  of 
those 'jarring  voices  that  make  discord  in  the  music  of 
life,  is  overheard,  saying  : 

"  Look  at  Bessie  Barton,  off  there  with  Kate.  I  do 
wish  that  child  would  learn  to  hold  her  head  up  !  If 
/  had  the  management  of  her  I'd  cure  her  of  her  bash- 
fulness  in  short  order  !  " 

Kate  glances  down.  Has  Bessie  heard  ?  No ;  her 
thoughts  are  ever  so  far  away. 

"  Oh,  Bessie,"  says  the  other,  quickly,  lest  there  is 
more  to  come,  "  I  see  some  cardinal-flowers  down  there 
by  the  brook.  Won't  you  go  bring  me  some,  please  ?  " 


IN    THE    WOODS.  49 

And  as  the  child  flies  away  on  the  errand,  Kate  joins 
the  companions  from  whom  they  have  strayed,  and  con- 
fronts the  owner  of  the  voice  with — 

"Now  you  shall  not  say  anything  against  Bessie. 
She's  a  little  angel." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  say  a  word,  Kate,  if 
[  had  thought  you  were  within  earshot.  She's  a  particu- 
lar pet  of  yours,  I  believe.  But  how  you  can  find  any- 
thing interesting  in  her,  I  can't  see.  She's  plain,  and 
so  shy  and  lackadaisical!  I  don't  see  how  she's  ever 
going  to  get  through  the  world  without  a  little  more 
vim." 

"  Ah,  you'll  see.  But  as  to  her  being  plain,  now 
I  don't  think  so.  What  rosy  cheeks  she  has !  and 
her  eyes — why,  they're  lovely.  And  she's  not  what  I 
should  call  lackadaisical,  in  the  least.  Why,  she's 
the  busiest  little  body  alive  !  always  doing  something 
for  somebody.  And  then  she  has  talent — a  wonderful 
eye  for  figure.  I  think  she's  going  to  make  an  artist." 

"Oh,  Kate  !"  laughs  Aunt  Sophia,  "  what  remarkable 
people  all  your  friends  are,  the  younger  ones  especially. 
There's  that  scapegrace  of  a  boy,  my  nephew  Harry ; 
what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  No  doubt  you'll  say  he's 
the  pink  of  propriety.  Harry,  Harry  !  come  down  out 
of  that  tree,  this  minute,  and  stop  tearing  about  so,  or 
you'll  be  all  in  rags  by  night !  "  . 


60  STOKIES    AND    BALLADS. 

"  What  do  I  think  of  him  ?  I  think  he's  just  mag- 
nificent! " 

"  As  black  as  the  ace  of  spades." 

"Yes,  he's  tanned  up  beautifully  this  summer,  and 
so  full  of  health  and  spirits,  with  a  heart  as  big  as  all 
out-of-doors." 

"If  he  would  only  take  to  books  more." 

"  Oh,  books  are  well  enough  (I  wouldn't,  for  the 
world,  speak  slightingly  of  them) ;  but  books  are  not 
everything.  Of  what  good  is  all  the  learning  if  one 
hasn't  the  life — the  strength  to  put  it  to  use  ?  Ah, 
those  sinewy  fists !  they  remind  me  of  the  old  Greeks. 
Bless  him ! — the  young  Hercules! — when  the  work  comes 
for  him  to  do  he  is  going  to  be  strong  and  able  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  he  has  a  mission  to  fulfill,  then  !  What  may  it 
be,  I  wonder  ?  Lassoing  wiM  horses  on  the  pampas  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  §oiixg  to  do  something  splendid,  by  and 
by,  that  will  make  you  all  proud  of  him." 

"  Well,  you  are  encouraging.  And  there's  that  little 
popinjay,  Marie  Maross,  with  her  saucy  eyes  (by  the 
way,  I  never  could  make  out  which  they  are,  gray  or 
black),  and  her  stringlets — I  can't  conscientiously  call 
them  ringlets  (I  suppose  they  would  have  been  wave- 
lets if  she  had  only  known  over  night  she  was  coming) 
— and  her  white  dress  as  limp  as  if  it  hadn't  come 
fresh  from  the  laundry  this  very  morning.  Do  look 


IN    THE    WOODS.  51 

at  the  grass-stains  and  mud  on  it,  and  half  the  ruffles 
_on  one  side  torn  off!  (I  don't  see  how  her  mother 
has  any  kind  of  patience  with  her ;  but  then  she's  an 
<easy  old  shoe.)  And  her  sash  awry,  and  her  ribbons 
flying,  and  her  bracelets  rattling,  and  those  half-dozen 
strings  of  beads  around  her  neck — " 

"Oh,  not  half-a-dozen !" 

"  At  any  rate,  enough  to  be  always  jingling  wherever 
she  goes,  like  the  old  woman  in  the  nursery  rhyme  : 

'  With  a  ring  on  her  finger  and  a  bell  on  her  toe. ' 

Well,  how  are  you  going  to  dispose  of  her  ?  Is  she  to 
be  a  second — a  sort  of  feminine  Kubenstein,-  or  a  Pau- 
line Lucca— or  are  you  going  to  send  her  as  missionary 
to  the  Feejee  Islands  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  the  cannibals  would  not  have  the  heart  to 
eat  her  up,"  Kate  answers,  laughingly.  "  The  gay  little 
thing  !  I  like  to  watch  her,  over  there  in  the  garden, 
fluttering  about  among  the  flowers,  prattling  to  her 
grandfather,  keeping  him  company.  I  always  think  of 
the  butterflies — harmless,  pretty  little  creatures,  meant, 
it  would  seem,  only  to  rollick  in  the  sunbeams  and  en- 
joy themselves,  and  brighten  the  landscape." 

"  But  her  everlasting  chatter !  If,  instead  of  living 
opposite,  you  were  right  next  door  to  them,  as  we  are, 
I'm  sure  you  would  tire  of  it  sometimes, — especially  in 


52  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

summer,  when  the  doors  and  windows  are  all  open.  Oh, 
I  assure  you,  her  tongue  is  going  from  morning  till 
night.  It  fairly  drives  me  wild,  sometimes." 

"  But  with  all  her  prattle  one  hardly  ever  hears  her 
say  anything  really  ill-natured." 

"  And  it's  just  as  uncommon  to  hear  her  say  anything 
with  any  sense  to  it !  " 

"  Well,  somebody  must  do  the  chattering.  If  none  of 
us  ever  spoke  but  to  say  something  sensible,  what  a 
fearfully  hushed,  melancholy  sort  of  world  this  would 
be.  That  little  brook  purling  among  the  stones,  there 
seems  to  be  no  meaning  in  what  it  says,  yet  Mother 
Nature  doesn't  bid  it  keep  quiet ;  and  if  all  these  little 
birds  should  stop  singing,  though  we  can  detect  but 
little  sense  in  their  merry  songs,  how  we  should  miss 
the  music ! — There  !  "  Kate  pauses,  alarmed  at  her 
own  boldness,  for  it  is  like  treading  on  matches  to 
argue  with  Aunt  Sophia !  "  I  didn't  mean  to  speechify ; 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Ah,  well,  you  and  I  never  will  agree.  And  here 
comes  your  angelic  protegee."  Namely,  Bessie,  just  now 
approaching  with  Monsieur  Maross,  who  has  been 
helping  her  gather  the  cardinal-flowers. 

Did  you  ^ver  see  any  of  those,  lads  and  lasses? 
There  is  no  color  richer  or  more  beautiful  than  the 
deep,  glowing  scarlet  of  their  corollas.  It  is  this  which 
gives  them  the  name. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  53 

"Figure  to  yourselves,"  says  M.  Maross,  who  is  a 
naturalist  and  a  foreigner,  as  you  perceive,  "  figure  to 
yourselves  some  missionary  priest  of  the  early  clays,  as 
he  journeys  through  the  wilderness  from  one  Indian 
village  to  another.  Passing  some  moist  and  shady 
nook  he  first  spies  this  superb  blossom.  He  admires 
it.  Instantly  he  is  reminded  of  les  chapeaux  rouges.* 
Behold,  lobelia  cardinalis  is  no  longer  at  loss  for  a  title." 
Monsieur  also  goes  on  to  state  that  the  flower  alluded 
to — "  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow  " 
— was  of  this  rich,  vivid  color.  Whereupon  the  listen- 
ers exclaim  in  surprise.  They  had  supposed  it  was 
white. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  general  impression,  but  erroneous. 
I  have  myself  seen  the  flower  growing  in  that  country. 
Had  it  been  of  white  the  concluding  words  would  not 
have  been  so  peculiarly  applicable :  '  Even  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these.'  Com- 
preTiez  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes ;  I  see.  If  we  only  knew  more  about  the  East 
how  many  of  those  passages  would  gain  in  force  and 
clearness  that  now  one  somehow  cannot  get  at  the  pith 
of." 

"You  speak  truly,  Mees." 

*The  red  hats  worn  by  cardinals. 


54  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Presently,  under  some  spreading  beeches,  the  friends 
and  neighbors  who  have  come  to  these  woods,  as  is 
their  wont  in  sultry  weather,  for  a  few  hours  of  recrea- 
tion, gather  together  for  luncheon — without  ceremony 
of  table  or  table-cloth,  for  this  is  "no  stiff  affair,"  as 
some  one  complacently  remarks,  but  quite  "all  in  the 
familee,"  as  Harry  says,  bringing  forth  from  its  hiding- 
place  an  unexpected  treat.  And  now  everybody  under- 
stands why  so  little  has  been  seen  of  him  to-day. 
Doesn't  he  know  these  miles  of  woodland  by  heart  ? 
Is  there  any  tree  so  tall  he  hasn't  climbed  it,  or  any 
stream  so  small  he  hasn't  traced  it  to  its  source  ?  He 
can  show  you  all  the  crows'  nests  and  all  the  rabbit 
burrows,  and  even  hint  to  you  mysteriously  that  a  fox 
dwells  hereabout.  He  knows  the  banks  where  the 
strawberries  reddened  in  June,  and  the  hill-sides  where 
the  chestnuts  will  burst  their  burs  in  October,  and  it 
is  only  he  who  could  surprise  the  company  with  this 
heaping  basket  of  blackberries,  so  fresh  and  ripe  and 
luscious,  still  wet  with  last  night's  dew. 

"Hal,  you're  a  brick  !"  exclaims  a  youth  of  his  own 
age,  piling  his  plate  with  the  proffered  fruit. 

"  Oo  is  weal  dood,  Hawy,  I  lite  oo  !"  lisps  the  infan- 
tile voice  of  Maggie  McAllister,  two  wee,  dimpled  fists 
making  a  successful  dive  into  the  basket. 

"  You  ah  the  light  of  me  eyes  and  the  joy  of  me 


IN    THE    WOODS.  55 

haaht !  "  murmurs  a  recent  graduate  from  a  boarding- 
school,  languidly  inserting  a  dessert-spoon  the  while 
she  regards  this  young  man — not  yet  far  advanced  in 
his  teens,  to  be  sure — as  benignly  as  if  he  were  about 
the  size  of  Maggie,  there. 

"  Let  'em  help  themselves,"  he  mutters  in  disgust, 
setting  down  the  basket  directly,  and  joining  Marie 
where  she  is  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  "  I  can  stand 
half  a  day  in  a  swamp  and  poke  amongst  blackberry 
briers  till  my  hands  resemble  the  map  of  Germany  done 
in  red  chalk,  but  I  can't  go  that  sort  of  thing.  Let's 
wish." 

Master  Harry  has  not  been  many  seconds  in  divest- 
ing of  its  edible  surroundings  that  part  of  the  fowl 
which  is  known  to  all  as  the  "  wish-bone,"  and  which  the 
slender  fingers  of  the  "  popinjay  "  always  manage  to 
break  in  her  favor. 

"  Say,  now,  what  did  you  wish  ?  (You  have  to  tell, 
you  know.)  That  there  would  be  another  war  or  revo- 
lution right  off,  so  you  could  have  a  chance  to  show 
your  courag  j  ?  " 

"  Now  you  needn't  make  any  more  fun  of  my  cour- 
age. But  I  don't  care  if  you  do  think  I'm  a  coward.  I 
belong  to  somebody  that  was  brave  as  a  lion.  He  was 
a  duke,  or  marquis,  or  something.  For,  you  see,  we 
didn't  live  in  this  country  in  the  time  of  the  Revolution." 


56  STOEIES    AND    BALLADS. 

"Oh!" 

"  No,  we  lived  in  France,  and  belonged  to  the  nobil- 
ity. I've  been  asking  grandpa  all  about  it,  and  he  told 
me  such,  a  splendid,  story. 

"  Grandpa  "  (she  has  approached  the  old  gentleman 
in  a  pause  of  the  debate  he  is  having  with  the  Lieu- 
tenant and  some  others,  on  the  subject  of  French  poli- 
tics), "  Grandpa,  won't  you  tell  us  that  story  you  told 
me  one  evening,  about  your  great-uncle,  who  was  a 
duke,  or  marquis,  or  something  ?" 

Just  now  a  sunbeam,  resting  on  the  little  head,  turns 
the  long  raven  "  mane"  to  purple.  Purple  hair!  Strange 
Aunt  Sophia  never  noticed  it  before,  ail  these  years  ! 
She  leans  forward  with  a  sudden  look  of  interest.  Must 
Marie  owe  it  to  the  dukes  and  marquises  that  she  is  to 
grow  in  favor  with  that  lady  ? 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  dukes  and  marquises,  my  Ma- 
rie," her  grandfather  has  answered,  "  lest  our  good 
friends  shall  conclude  that  we  are  of  that  class  of  peo- 
ple who,  not  being  of  perceptible  merit  themselves,  en- 
deavor to  make  up  for  the  deficiency  by  boasting  of 
their  ancestors.  Whereas,"  with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye, 
"  if  we  only  trace  back  far  enough,  we  shall  find  that 
we  all  have  the  honor  of  descending  from  the  same 
illustrious  tribe — the  monkeys." 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  grandpa,  to  tell  such  fibs !  " 


IN    THE    WOODS.  57 

"  But,  no,  Mademoiselle,  it  is  even  true  what  I  say. 
At  least  so  we  are  informed  by  the  celebrated  Mr. 
Darwin." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  think  much  of  that  Mr.  Darwin !  " 

"  Nor  I !  "  cries  Kate.  "  Nor  I !  "  "  Nor  I !  "  "  Nor 
I!  "  echo  several  voices.  And  here,  in  the  midst  of  an 
American  forest,  Darwin  and  his  theories,  after  a  heated 
discussion,  are,  by  vote  of  the  majority,  consigned  to 
oblivion. 

But  during  this  discussion,  Harry,  happening  to 
glance  that  way,  discovers  Kate,  who  has  just  left  the 
group,  kneeling  on  the  brink  of  a  deep  ravine  a  few 
yards  distant,  and  looking  down  with  a  very  pale  face. 
Catching  his  eye,  she  beckons.  He  is  beside  her  in  an 
instant.  ""What  is  it,  Katy?"  he  questions,  wonder- 
ingly.  She  motions  to  be  silent,  and  to  look  down. 
On  this  side,  for  a  space,  the  wall  of  the  ravine  is  almost 
perpendicular.  At  its  base,  fifty  feet  below,  a  stream 
gurgles  along  over  broken  ledges  of  rock.  Peering 
over,  he  sees  bashful  Bessie  Barton  working  her  way 
up  this  wall  by  aid  of  the  shrubbery  rooted  in  the  cre- 
vices, which  latter  serve  for  foothold  ;  and  as  she  climbs 
she  shifts  from  one  arm  to  the  other  the  little  bundle 
of  innocence  which  answers  to  the  name  of  Maggie,  the 
dimpled  hands  clasped  about  her  neck.  In  the  flash  of 
an  eye  he  comprehends  it  all.  While  the  grown-up 


58  STORIES   AND   BALLADS. 

people  were  disputing,  the  child  must  have  slipped 
away,  and  only  Bessie  noticing  her  absence,  has  come 
to  search.  How  little  three-year-old  ever  crept  down 
there,  cannot  be  explained.  These  tiny  creatures  will 
worm  themselves  into  the  most  astonishing  places! 
Harry's  coat  is  off  directly.  He  is  going  to  the  rescue. 
But  "  No,"  Kate  whispers,  "  she  doesn't  see  there's  any 
one  looking  on.  The  least  sound  or  motion  may  startle 
her,  and  she  will  lose  her  hold,  and — and  there  are  the 
rocks  below !  " 

What  agony,  to  watch  some  one  in  peril  when  you 
may  not  lift  a  finger  to  save  !  Harry  never  knew  such 
torture  as  at  this  moment. 

Slowly  the  little  heroine  works  her  way  up.  Will 
her  strength  give  out  ? 

Oh,  you  Aunt  Sophias,  take  care  how  you  deride  the 
bashful  people  !  And  did  you. ever  hear  what  the  wag 
said  to  the  philosopher?  "Why  don't  you  hold  your 
head  up,  as  I  do?  "  And  this  is  what  the  philosopher 
said  to  the  wag  :  "  If  you  will  examine  the  heads  of 
wheat  in  yonder  field  you  will  find  that  only  those 
which  are  erect  are  empty." 

To  those  watching,  the  moments  seem  like  hours. 
Ah,  Bessie  sees  them  at  last.  Wait ! — now — quick  I 
Four  hands  are  reached  to  her,  grasp  her,  lift  her  with 
her  burden  up  over  the  brink.  And  now  that  there  is 


IN   THE    WOODS.  59 

no  further  need  of  exertion,  she  sinks  back,  weak  and 
helpless,  in  Kate's  arms. 

"  Take  the  child  to  her  mother,  Harry,  and  bring  me 
water — water ! " 

"Why, where  have  yon  been,  darling ?"  asks  Mrs. 
McAllister,  suddenly  remembering  her,  now  that  Dar- 
win is  disposed  of. 

"  Me  did  do  to  find  mo'  bewies." 

What  with  laving  her  forehead,  and  the  fanning,  and 
the  cool  drink,  Bessie  soon  revives.  "  She  had  got 
down  a  good  ways  when  I  saw  her  first.  I  had  to  fol- 
low so  still,  for  fear  of  frightening  her."  So  she  ex- 
plains. "  It  was  her  hat  that  lay  here  made  me  think 
to  look  down." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  "What  has  happened?" 
"Did  she  faint  away?"  ask  one  and  another,  hurrying 
up ;  for  all  but  the  two  witnesses  are  still  ignorant  of 
that  fearful  scene. 

"  You  tell  them,  Harry."  says  Kate ;  "  tell  it  to  them 
all !  tell  it  to  them  all !  We'll  have  it  put  in  the  morn- 
ing papers.  We'll  trumpet  it  from  the  house-tops  and 
the  corners  of  the  streets."  And  hugging  the  little  girl, 
"  Ah,  my  sweet,  you  needn't  blush  so !  I  mean  they 
shall  appreciate  you." 

And  noting  the  cries  of  wonder  and  admiration 
which  follow  the  boy's  announcements,  and  the  crowd 


60  STOEIES   AND    BALLADS. 

that  presses  around  her  shy  little  friend,  and  cannot 
make  enough  of  her,  Mademoiselle  is  overheard  «aying 
softly  to  herself :  "  Why.  one  can  be  brave,  even  in 
these  days." 


THE  OLD  MONSIEUB'S  STOET. 


"Lieutenant,  they  want  I  should  ask  you  for  a  story/4 
"  They  "  are  the  dozen  or  more  of  lads  and  lasses  who, 
in  the  pleasant  summer  twilights,  have  frequently  been 
,  as  now,  gathered  before  the  house  where  the  blind 
ier  lives.  The  sparrows  soon  learn  to  know  that 
or  or  window  where  they  are  welcome,  and  where 
crumbs  are  scattered  for  them.  They  flock  about  it, 
fearless,  chirping  cheerily,  and  make  themselves  at  home 
there.  Thus  these  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the  porch 
have  become  a  favorite  resort  of  the  youngsters  of  the 
neighborhood;  for  here  they  may  meet  unmolested, 
and  chatter  and  laugh  to  their  hearts'  content ;  here 
crumbs,  in  the  shape  of  stories,  are  now  and  then 
thrown  out  for  bait ;  and  partly  they  may  be  drawn 
hither  by  the  presence  of  the  amused  listener  to  their 
random  talk  ;  tacitly  understanding  that  to  him,  who  is 
denied  the  sight  of  their  bright  young  faces,  the  sound 
of  their  clear  young  voices  is  doubly  sweet.  But  he  is 
not  the  only  one  who  is  entertained.  Sometimes  one 

of  his  older  friends  will  join  the  merry  group — -often 

(61) 


62  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

the  venerable  Frenchman  who  resides  across  the  street. 
It  so  happens  that  he  approaches  just  now,  as  Harry  is 
making  that  time-worn  request — "  a  story  "  ;  and  the 
other  says,  "  I  think  that  is  Monsieur,  coming  ?  Per- 
haps lie  will  tell  us  one." 

"  Yes,  now,  grandpapa,"  coaxes  Marie,  "  tell  us  about 
Gabrielle." 

"  Bien"  and  he  accepts  the  proffered  arm-chair;  "  I 
will  tell,  then,  the  story  of  Gabrielle. 

"Without  doubt,  my  dear  children,  some  of  you 
have  heard  of  that  event  in  the  history  of  France 
which  is  termed  the  Revolution  ?  I  do  not  speak  of 
those  more  recent  troubles  which  have  distracted  my 
native  land,  but  of  that  memorable  Revolution  which 
blackened  the  closing  years  of  the  last  century — a 
period  at  which  you  gaze  as  upon  a  sky  filled  with  the 
darkness  of  clouds,  and  the  threatening  thunder,  and 
the  fierce  lightning-flashes. 

"  Ah,  my  children,  you  are  happy  to  be  of  a  nation 
which  has  not  that  wild  and  horrible  dream  to  remem- 
ber. And  here  I  will  say  to  you,  I,  that  you  are  truly 
fortunate  to  live  in  a  land  most  free,  where  there  is  less 
of  oppression  than  in  any  other ;  where  one  can  say 
what  he  will,  do  what  he  will.  If  but  he  keep  the  laws 
he  is  secure.  He  may  be  of  whatever  party  he  chooses. 
Nobody  is  going  to  harm  him.  He  may,  if  so  ill-dis- 


THE  OLD  MONSIEUR'S  STORY.  63 

posed,  say  whatever  desagrcables  he  please  of  those  who 
believe  not  as  he.  He  will  not  be  obliged  to  fly  and  to 
take  refuge  among  strangers,  as  I  myself,  long  time  ago, 
for  that,  in  company  with  others,  I  preferred  a  king  to  an 
emperor,  and  was  not  sufficiently  secret  about  it.  De- 
serving, indeed,  of  gratitude  are  they  who,  defending 
this  beautiful  country,  have  preserved  to  it  peace  and 
freedom. 

"  Alas  !  if  poor  France  had  not  been  for  so  long  bur- 
dened with  oppressions,  this  Revolution  could  not  have 
occurred.  That  was  the  reaction,  the  recoil.  Let  me 
illustrate.  I  will  remove  from  my  pocket-book  this 
band  elastic  which  confines  it.  I  stretch  it  with  my 
two  hands  to  its  full  length.  "With  one  hand  I  release 
it.  It  flies  back.  Ugh  !  it  makes  me  wince.  (That  is 
a  very  homely  illustration,  is  it  not  ?)  Now  for  a  long 
time  the  nations  of  Europe  had  been  engaged  in  wars 
in  which  France  took  a  leading  part.  It  requires 
money  to  conduct  wars.  To  procure  it  the  people  are 
taxed.  Also,  there  was  no  court  so  gay  and  luxurious 
as  that  of  France.  To  support  this  luxury  and  splen- 
dor required  money.  Still  again  taxes.  When  taxes 
arb  great  the  cost  of  living  is  increased.  Thus  while 
there  was  feasting  and  revelry  in  palaces,  in  hovels 
there  was  famine  and  misery.  The  little  ones  moaned 
and  sobbed  for  bread,  and  there  was  no  bread  to  givo 


64  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

them.  The  people  were  full  of  wrath  at  this  state  of 
affairs.  Force  was  required  to  keep  them  in  subjec- 
tion. Now  there  came  to  the  throne  a  good  and  merci- 
ful king,  who  in  peaceful  times  would  have  been  much 
revered.  But,  in  this  situation,  great  wisdom  as  well 
as  justice  was  needful.  From  his  unsteady  grasp 
the  reins  of  government  slipped,  as  you  have  seen  the 
elastic  slip  from  mine.  Behold  the  recoil — most  terri- 
ble!—r-which  destroyed  the  king,  the  queen,  and  all 
who  believed  in  the  royalist  cause.  The  people  who 
had  so  long  suffered  might  now  take  revenge.  They 
who  had  yearned  for  liberty  were  filled  with  hope. 
Their  land  was  to  be  free,  like  that  one  beyond  the 
ocean. 

"  Alas !  the  despotism  which  had  been  called  a  mon- 
archy was  succeeded  by  a  despotism  far  worse,  which 
was  called  a  republic.  This  was  truly  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  The  guillotine  was  never  idle.  'Madame 
Guillotine,'  it  was  entitled — that  deadly  machine  in- 
vented for  those  days,  when  victims  were  so  numerous 
it  was  necessary  that  they  be  dispatched  in  the  swiftest 
manner  possible.  This  cruel  slaughter  was  chiefly 
confined  to  the  metropolis,  to  Paris,  until  here  a  prov- 
ince and  there  a  city,  disapproving  of  their  deeds,  re- 
fused submission  to  the  party  in  power — the  Jacobins. 
Armies  were  sent  to  subdue  them.  The  city  of  Lyons 


THE  OLD  MONSIEUR'S  STORY.  65 

made  the  resistance  most  notable.  Thousands  of  roy- 
alists, fleeing  for  their  lives,  had  taken  shelter  there, 
and  were  zealous  in  the  defense.  They  hoped  by  this 
resistance  to  inspire  other  towns,  and  perhaps  all 
France,  to  arise  and  check  the  course  of  this  Revolu- 
tion— this  monster,  ever  thirsting  for  blood.  Alas !  it 
was  impossible.  Besieged  by  the  republican  troops, 
all  supplies  prevented,  for  lack  of  food  and  ammunition 
the  city  was  at  length  obliged  to  surrender,  after  a 
brave  and  desperate  struggle.  For  any  who  had  taken 
up  arms  against  the  republic  there  was  now  no  safety 
but  in  flight.  Flight  was  nearly  useless.  They  were 
pursued,  captured.  The  country  was  searched  for 
leagues  around.  Within  the  city,  paid  informers  were 
everywhere  seeking  whom  they  might  report  as  guilty. 
For  the  head  of  a  priest  or  noble  the  price  was  dou- 
bled. The  prisons  were  filled,  crowded.  Madame 
Guillotine  could  not  work  sufficiently  fast.  The  Reign 
of  Terror  had  now  begun  in  Lyons  also. 

"  I  must  not  pain  you,  dear  children,  with  a  recital 
of  the  horrors  of  those  days. 

"  Among  the  unfortunate  royalists  who  had  taken 
shelter  in  Lyons  was  the  Marquis  de  Rochemont.  In 
one  of  the  fierce  conflicts  during  the  siege  he  had  been 
seriously  wounded,  and  at  the  time  of  the  surrender 
was  unable  to  attempt  an  escape.  Nevertheless,  he 


66  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

had  taken  the  precaution  to  remove  from  his  formei 
quarters,  and  had  established  himself  in  a  garret  of  a 
lofty  but  dilapidated  tenement  facing  upon  an  unfre- 
quented court-yard.  There  concealed,  in  a  manner 
which  would  least  betoken  his  rank,  his  sole  compan- 
ions his  motherless  little  daughter  and  a  faithful  ser- 
vant, he  thought  to  avoid  the  vigilance  of  the  spies. 
Often,  from  his  hiding-place,  he  would  hear  the  explo- 
sions of  gunpowder,  followed  by  the  crash  of  falling 
buildings. 

"  What  were  those  buildings  ? 

"  The  residences  or  the  property  of  Lyonnese,  who 
had  engaged  in  the  defense.  The  Jacobins,  in  their 
fury,  were  reducing  the  city  to  ruins. 

"  One  evening,  as  the  attendant  was  dressing  his 
wounds,  the  Marquis  asked,  '  What  is  the  matter,  An- 
toine?  you  are  pale.  Your  hands  tremble.' 

'"  The  other  responded :  '  Just  now,  as  I  came  up  the 
stairs,  I  saw  some  person  listening  and  peering  at  the 
key-hole.  As  I  approached  he  glided  away.  It  is 
enough.  I  fear  we  are  discovered.' 

"After  discussing  this  matter  it  was  decided  that 
Antoine  go  out,  and  obtain,  if  possible,  a  uniform  like 
that  worn  by  the  soldiers  of  the  republic.  Disguised 
in  this,  the  Marquis  would  depart  in  the  night,  and 
await  in  a  forest  not  far  from  the  city,  there  to  bo  joined 


THE  OLD  MONSIEUK'S  STORY.  67 

by  the  servant  with  the  child,  and  to  proceed  thence 
toward  the  mountains  and  the  country  of  the  Swiss, 
where  there  were  relatives  and  friends  who  had  quitted 
France  upon  the  fall  of  the  king. 

"  Scarcely  had  Antoine  set  forth  upon  that  errand 
when  two  gens  d'armes  appeared.  They  had  come  to 
arrest  the  Marquis.  To  be  arrested,  that  was  the  cell, 
the  mock  trial.  After  these — the  scaffold.  Had  they 
come  in  the  name  of  law  and  order  he  would  have  re- 
signed himself  to  that  fate.  They  came  in  the  name  of 
disorder  and  opposition  to  law.  Bien  !  Disabled  as  he 
was,  rising,  he  drew  his  sword.  They  supposed  to  over- 
power him.  Sword  met  sword.  The  hunted  stag  brought 
to  bay  is  dangerous.  One  of  those  intruders  was  slain. 
The  other,  wounded,  fled.  Soon  he  would  return  with 
assistance  ;  accompanied,  perhaps,  by  the  mob.  No 
time  was  to  be  lost. 

"  Seizing  his  little  daughter,  who  had  been  a  terrified 
witness  of  that  scene,  the  Marquis  hastened  away,  along 
a  low  passage  leading  to  the  stairs.  A  ray  of  the  moon 
lighted  an  apartment  as  he  passed.  He  saw  through 
the  open  door  heaps  of  rags.  The  ragman  lay  sleeping 
in  their  midsfc.  Near  by  were  his  tattered  coat,  his 
wooden  shoes,  his  greasy  cap,  his  basket.  The  basket 
was  furnished  with  a  lid.  One  thinks  rapidly  on  such 
occasions.  The  Marquis  entered,  arrayed  himself  in 


83  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

the  coat,  the  cap,  the  shoes,  forgetting  not  to  leave  some 
gold  coins  in  their  place,  as  compensation.  The  basket 
would  contain  the  child. 

" '  Fear  not,  my  little  Gabrielle,'  he  said,  as  he  con- 
cealed her  in  it,  '  but  remain  quiet  while  I  carry  thee 
away  where  those  terrible  men  cannot  find  us.' 

""With  this  basket  upon  his  head,  thus  shadowing 
his  face,  he  descended  through  the  building  to  an  en- 
trance in  the  rear,  which  opened  upon  an  alley.  There 
he  hurried  along.  Already  he  could  hear  the  shouts 
and  cries  of  people  gathering  in  the  court-yard.  He 
quickened  his  steps.  Not  far  distant  was  the  bridge 
which  spans  the  Rhone.  He  arrived  there  without  in- 
terruption. To  proceed,  to  attempt  to  traverse  the  ex- 
tensive plains  beyond?  Already,  doubtless,  pursuers 
were  upon  his  track.  In  no  disguise  was  there  secu- 
rity. At  the  same  time  the  earth  seemed  to  be  whirl- 
ing about.  There  was  a  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  saw 
some  boats  upon  the  bank  below.  He  approached  and 
shoved  one  of  them  into  the  water.  He  lifted  Gabrielle 
from  her  concealment  and  placed  her  in  it.  He  then 
rowed  out  into  the  midst  of  the  river.  There,  no  need 
of  oars.  The  current  is  swift,  strong.  It  rushed  with 
them  away  from  danger  and  the  doomed  city.  He  laid 
himself  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  In  the  moon- 
beams Gabrielle  saw  his  face  very  white.  She  saw  his 


'  Remain  quiet  while  I  carry  thee  away  wnere  those  terrible  men  can  not  find  us. 

PAGE  68. 


THE  OLD  MONSIEUR'S  STORY.  69 

lips  move.  His  hands  reached  out  to  her.  She  crept 
to  him.  Then  all  was  silent.  '  He  sleeps,'  she  said. 
Soon  she  slept  also. 

"  When  Gabrielle  opened  again  her  eyes  the  sun  was 
shining  ;  the  boat  was  no  longer  afloat,  but  lodged  on 
the  sands  under  willow  trees.  A  rough  voice  was  say- 
ing, '  What's  this?'  and  Gabrielle  saw  a  man  in  rough 
clothes  bending  over. 

" '  It  is  my  father,'  she  said.  '  He  is  very  weary. 
That  is  why  he  sleeps  so  long.  You  must  not  wake 
him.' 

" '  That  would  be  difficult,'  muttered  the  voice. 

"  True.  The  Marquis  had  received  a  sword-thrust 
in  that  encounter  with  the  gens  d'armes,  and  had  ex- 
pired from  loss  of  blood. 

"  The  rough  man  went  away  to  a  cluster  of  cottages 
near  by.  Soon  he  returned  with  several  people,  men 
and  women.  One  of  the  latter  offered  sweet-cakes  to 
Gabrielle.  She  had  a  pleasant  face,  too,  but  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes.  Gabrielle  was  hungry.  When  the 
sweet-cakes  were  gone  she  asked  for  more. 

" '  If  you  will  come  with  me  to  my  house,'  said  the 
good  woman,  *  I  will  give  you  all  you  wish.' 

"  Gabrielle  went  home  with  her.  After  the  dame 
had  amused  her  some  hours  she  desired  to  return  to 
the  boat.  Her  father  was  not  there. 


70  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  '  Where  is  lie  ? '  she  demanded,  weeping. 

"  The  good  dame  pointed  to  a  mound  with  the  soil 
fresh  upon  it.  '  When  people  sleep  a  very  long  time,' 
she  said,  '  they  always  are  laid  to  rest  in  such  places. 
They  sleep  better  there.  No  one  can  disturb  them.  Once 
I  had  a  little  girl  who  is  sleeping  thus.  I  miss  her. 
Will  you  be  my  little  girl  ?  ' 

" '  Yes,'  answered  Gabrielle,  '  until  she  wakens  and 
my  father  wakens.  Then  I  will  have  mine,  I,  and  you 
will  have  your  own.' 

"  After,  she  learned  better  to  understand  those  mat- 
ters. Also,  as  she  grew  older,  she  learned  to  be  very 
useful.  She  could  drive  the  cow  from  the  pasture  and 
assist  in  tending  the  garden.  She  could  make  the  soup, 
the  bread.  She  learned  to  sew,  to  knit,  and  to  spin. 
Sometimes  she  heard  them  talk  of  a  wonderful  person 
upon  the  throne,  who  was  conquering  all  the  world. 
They  called  him  Napoleon.  The  Revolution  was  fin- 
ished. France  was  no  longer  a  republic. 

"  One  day,  as  Gabrielle  stood  at  her  spinning-wheel 
before  the  door,  two  travelers  rode  by.  One  of  them 
gazed  at  her  attentively.  He  addressed  a  few  words  to 
the  other.  They  halted  and  accosted  a  villager  who 
was  passing. 

"  '  Who  is  that  young  girl  ?  '  they  asked. 

fl  The  villager — it  was  he  with  the  rough  voice — re- 


1/HE  OLD  MONSIEUR'S  STOKY.  71 

lated  how  the  waves  had  brought  her  to  them,  how  that 
he  had  found  her — a  sleeping  child  in  the  arms  of  the 
dead.  '  The  man  was  clad  in  rags,'  said  he,  '  but  he  was 
provided  with  a  purse  containing  much  gold,  and  with 
a  sword.' 

"  '  It  is  true/  said  the  stranger  who  had  first  observed 
Gabrielle,  and  who  seemed  to  be  the  attendant.  'There 
was  a  collector  of  rags  who  lodged  near  us,  and  who  in 
the  crowd,  after  the  escape  of  my  master,  complained 
of  the  loss  of  his  coat.' 

"  They  requested  to  see  the  sword.  "When  it  was 
shown  to  them,  the  attendant  said,  '  It  is  the  sword  of 
the  Marquis.  I  recognize  it  by  the  carving  of  the  hilt.' 
Then  gazing  once  more  at  Gabrielle,  he  exclaimed, 
'  How  she  is  like  her  mother ! '  (She  had  grown  very 
beautiful.) 

"  He  approached,  and  seizing  her  hands,  covered 
them  with  kisses  and  with  tears.  *  Dost  thou  not  re- 
member me  ?  '  he  asked,  '  me,  old  Antoine  ?  ' 

"  She  had  not  forgotten  entirely  of  that  Antoine. 

"  '  And  I,'  said  the  other,  embracing  her,  *  I  am  thy 
father's  brother.  It  is  along  time  that  we  have  searched 
and  made  inquiry  for  thee.' 

"It  was  my  grandfather.  He  took  her  far  away  to 
his  home.  But  the  good  dame  was  presented  with  the 
purse,  filled  with  gold,  which  she  had  been  keeping 
for  Gabrielle's  dowry. 


*T2  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  And  tlie  sword  ?  My  dear  children,  if  any  of  you 
have  intention  to  some  time  visit  France,  I  can  indicate 
where  you  will  find  an  ancient  chateau,  in  which  is  a 
gallery — a  place  of  armor — where,  among  shields,  and 
helmets,  and  coats  of  mail,  and  spears,  and  tattered 
banners,  and  other  relics  of  past  centuries,  still  is  to  be 
seen  this  sword.  It  was  Gabrielle  herself  who  pointed 
it  out  to  me,  many  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  boy 
like  Master  Harry,  and  she  was  a  marchioness,  and  pre- 
sided over  the  same  chateau.  And  she  it  was  who  at 
fche  same  time  told  me  this  story." 


BUTTEBNUT  AND  BLUE. 


"Mr.  Walter,  where  did  you  find  this  great,  nice, 
beautiful  dog?"  asks  Marie,  who  has  been  having  a 
romp  around  the  room  with  Ponto. 

"  I  didn't  find  him  ;  he  came  to  me." 

"  Came  to  you !  Oh,  now  there's  some  story  about 
him  !  And  you  are  going  to  tell  it  to  me  ?  " 

"No,  Marie,  it's  all  about  a  battle.  Girls  don't  like  to 
hear  about  battles." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  do,  sometimes.  And  you  know  you 
never  will  tell  us  anything  about  the  war  ; — does  he, 
Katy  ?  " 

But  Katy  has  quietly  left  the  room. 

"  Well,  Marie,  once  I  woke  up  after-  a  battle,  and 
something,  I  couldn't  see  what,  was  tugging  at  my 
coat.  There  was  a  sun  in  the  sky  the  last  I  could  re- 
member. Now  it  was  night,  and  a  very  dark  night.  I 
reached  out  to  feel  what  sort  of  creature  this  was 
Then  I  first  discovered  that  my  right  hand  was  gone. 
But  with  the  other  I  could  feel  the  head  and  long 
silken  ears  of  a  dog.  He  seemed  pleased  to  hava  me 


74  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

notice  him,  licked  my  face,  and  gamboled  about,  then 
commenced  to  tug  at  my  clothes  again.  He  seemed  to 
want  something  of  me.  I  finally  got  up  and  tried  to 
follow  him — tried,  I  say,  because  it  is  no  easy  matter 
to  walk  about  the  field  of  battle  the  night  after  it  has 
taken  place.  One  is  apt  to  find  obstacles  in  his  way. 
As  I  groped  along,  and  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  I  could  just  distinguish  from  the  sur- 
rounding shadows  the  figure  of  this  strange  guide  of 
mine.  It  was  -a  monster  of  a  dog — a  black,  moving 
mass.  I  had  known  of  one  other  like  him.  An  idea 
occurred  to  me.  Perhaps  this  and  that  dog  were  the 
same.  That  dog's  name  was  Ponto.  So  I  called— 
'Ponto?'  to  try  him.  Back  he  came  bounding,  directly, 
leaping  upon  me,  and  seemed  quite  delighted.  I  was 
pretty  certain  this  was  the  dog  I  knew.  As  I  went 
along  talking  to  him,  some  one  spoke  from  among  the 
shadows — '  Is  that  you,  "Walt  ?'  There  was  only  one  per- 
son who  had  been  wont  to  address  me  after  that  fashion. 
He  had  recognized  my  voice.  Now  I  recognized  hi.s. 
And  it  would  have  been  strange,  surely,  if  we  had  not 
known  each  other's  voice.  We  were  together  at  college 
for  four  years,  and  great  friends — '  most  intimate,'  that 
is  the  expression,  I  believe.  I  sometimes  went  home 
and  spent  vacation  with  him.  (He  lived  in  Virginia, 
among  the  mountains.)  And  sometimes  he  came  home 


BUTTEKXUT    AND    BLUE.  73 

with  me.  You  would  hardly  remember  him  ;  yet,  when 
a  very  small  carriage,  containing  a  very  small  child, 
used  to  stop  at  our  door,  he  was  always  on  hand  to  lift 
out  that  little  Mademoiselle  and  bring  her  in — only  a 
dainty  bundle  of  embroideries,  apparently,  till  two 
bright  eyes  peeped  forth,  and  pretty  soon  two  little  pink 
fists  that  would  get  at  his  hair  and  pull  it,  and  that 
used  to  tickle  him  immensely.  Yes,  as  I  said,  we  were 
the  best  of  friends.  Then  suddenly  there  was  a  great 
gulf  between  us;  and  we  saw,  and  heard,  and  knew  no 
more  of  each  other.  It  appears  that,  though  we  were 
not  aware  of  it,  we  had  been  fighting  against  each  other 
that  very  day.  But  now  Ponto  had  brought  us  together 
again,  and  we  were  glad  enough  to  meet.  So  glad  we 
could  forget,  at  last,  that  he  belonged  to  the  army  of 
the  South,  and  I  to  the  army  of  the  Union.  We  had  a 
great  many  matters  to  talk  over,  not  having  seen  each 
other  in  some  time.  Ah,  but  we  couldn't  see,  as  you 
know.  So  we  had  to  be  content  with  saying  our  fare- 
wells in  the  dark.  For  that  was  the  way  our  talk 
ended,  Marie.  He  passed  away,  there  in  the  night,  I 
supporting  him  as  best  I  could.  Pouto  was  his  dying 
gift.  Come  here,  old  fellow."  And  the  Lieutenant 
hides  his  face  against  the  dog's  shaggy  shoulder. 

Marie  steals  softly  from  the  house  and  toward  home. 
And  when,  a  moment  after,  Kate  conies  down  the  hall 


76  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

stairs  and  into  the  room,  Ponto  lifts  to  her  great,  gen- 
tle, human,  sympathizing  eyes.  Perhaps  he  guesses 
she,  too,  has  a  share  in  those  remembrances.  For  who 
shall  deny  that  he  has  thoughts  ? 


A   SECKET. 


"  Why,  you,  Harry  ?  I  didn't  know  you  had  come 
home  !  "  Kate,  glancing  up  from  the  book  from  which 
she  had  been  reading  aloud,  has  only  at  this  moment 
noticod  the  boy's  entrance. 

"  I  haven't  been  home  yet.  I  wanted  to  consult  you 
first.  You  see  I'm  expelled."  (Harry,  you  must  know, 
has  been  away  at  school  since  early  in  September.) 
"  Thought  I'd  tell  you  on  the  start,  so  you  wouldn't 
feel  imposed  upon.  Why,  you  take  it  all  as  a  matter 
of  course  !  You  don't  look  a  bit  surprised  ! ' 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  we're  not  very.  And  how  do  you 
do,  you  blessed  boy?  You  don't  know  how  we've 
missed  you!  "  And  Kate  seizes  his  two  hands  with  a 
heartiness  that  proves  her  faith  in  him  is  still  un- 
shaken. 

"  Miss  Katy !  if  you've  got  a  particle  of  respect  left 
for  me,  won't  you  give  me  some  supper  ?  I'm  hungry 
as  a  bear.  Just  got  in  on  the  train.  Haven't  had  a 
mouthful  to  eat  since  noon ! " 

"  The  poor  child  !     So  he  should  have  some  supper. 

I'll  go  directly  and  see  about  it." 

(77) 


?«  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"This  was  the  way  it  happened,"  Harry  explains, 
over  the  waffles  and  coffee.  • "  You  see,  when  I  first 
went  there  the  boys  were  a  solemncholy  lot,  oh,  I  tell 
you !  studious  as  owls,  got  to  improve  each  shining 
hour,  and  all  that.  "Well,  I  thought  if  that  sort  of  thing 
was  going  to  last  I  shouldn't  survive  long.  So  I  went 
to  work  and  got  'em  stirred  up  after  awhile,  and  things 
got  to  be  kind  of  lively.  But  Tabby — that's  the  Prin- 
cipal— the  way  he  hangs  his  eye  out 's  a  caution.  Oh, 
no,  Miss  Katy ;  that's  only  a  nickname  we  gave  him ; 
he's  got  such  a  cattish  way  of  prowling  around  nights 
to  see  if  there's  any  doings  going  on.  Anything  but  a 
sneak !  Well,  I  thought  I'd  be  even  with  'im ;  so  last 
night  I  laid  torpedoes  all  along  the  hall ;  oh,  Miss 
Katy,  nothing  but  those  little  paper  wads  that  never 
hurt  anybody  in  the  world.  Well,  the  last  bell  rung 
and  we  put  out  the  lights,  and  lay  still  and  listened. 
By'n  by — pop !  pop !  pop  !  Tabby  was  coming  to  see 
if  everything  was  all  right.  Ha,  ha!  guess  his  mocca- 
sins must  'ave  run  against  every  identical  one.  You'd 
'ave  thought  he  was  having  a  Fourth  of  July  celebra- 
tion out  there  all  by  himself.  But  wasn't  he  hoppin' 
mad,  though !  Called  me  into  the  study  this  morning 
right  after  breakfast." 

" ( Did  you  place  those  torpedoes  in  the  hall  last 
night  ? '  says  he. 


"Ha,  ha  1  guess  his  moccasins  must  'ave  run  against  every  identical 
one."— PAGE  78. 


A    SECBE1.  79 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  says  I. 

"  '  What  was  your  object? ' 

"  '  Fun,'  says  I. 

"Well,  he  gave  me  a  long  lecture,  said  he  didn't  like 
my  influence  in  the  school,  that  he'd  had  more  trouble 
during  the  few  weeks  I'd  been  there  than  in  any  live 
years  before.  Well,  the  long  an'  short  of  it  was  I'd  got 
to  leave.  That  was  just  what  I  wanted.  So  off  I 
come,  and  here  I  am,  with  a  letter  for  father  in  my 
pocket  that  gives  me  an  awful  setting  out,  I  expect." 
(Harry's  countenance  grows  suddenly  grave.)  "I 
wouldn't  care  if  it  was  only  father  I'd  got  to  chalk  up 
to  ;  but  Aunt  Sophi' !  "  (No  use  trying  to  describe  the 
tone  in  which  that  name  is  uttered.)  "I  thought, 
Katy — I  thought,  maybe  you'd  be  willing  to  go  over 
there,  and — well,  kind  of  talk  her  around,  you  know- 
why,  kind  of  smooth  matters,  that  is,  so  she  won't 
be  quite  so  hard  on  a  fellow.  Won't  you,  now  ?  If  you 
will  I'll  go  back  there  to  old  Williams,  and  I'll  study 
like  anything!  I  will,  now,  and  behave  myself;  oh, 
you  shall  -§ee  !  if  ycull  only  go  this  once." 

Kate  doesn't  like  to  get  up  a  reputation  for  being 
meddlesome  ;  but  she  recalls  how  kind  and  attentive 
this  boy  has  been  to  her  brother,  and  it  is  not  in 
her  heart  to  refuse.  So  she  leaves  the  two  chatting  by 
the  fireside  and  crosses  the  street  to  spend  an  evening 
with  Aunt  Sophia. 


80  STOKTES  AND  BALLADS. 

"I  don't  know  what  possesses  me,  sometimes,"  says 
Harry,  at  length,  waxing  confidential  as  usually  when 
alone  with  the  Lieutenant.  "  I  believe  it's  the  Old  Nick ! 
1  was  always  getting  into  scrapes  ever  since  I  was 
knee-high  to  a  grasshopper.  Now,  some  fellows  find  it 
smooth  sailing  all  along,  never  get  into  trouble.  I 
wonder  why?  " 

"Perhaps  they  are  not  so  blessed  with  animal 
spirits." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  it's  to  be  called  a  blessing." 

"  The  river  flowing  through  our  town  is  a  mischiev- 
ous river,  sometimes,  especially  in  spring,  when  the 
snow  is  melting,  and,  overfed  by  the  streams  from  the 
hills,  it  comes  rushing  along,  sweeping  away  dams  and 
bridges,  and  tearing  about  generally,  in  a  very  unrea- 
sonable fashion.  Yet  farther  on,  at  Factoryville,  where 
it  plunges  over  the  rocks,  it  keeps  the  mills  going  all 
the  year  round.  In  fact,  there  would  be  no  mills  there 
if  it  were  not  for  our  brave  little  river  'putting  its 
shoulder  to  the  wheel.'  Besides,  we  must  admit,  it  is 
quite  an  important  feature  in  the  landscape,  winding 
among  the  woods  ar.d  fields,  flashing  and  shimmering 
in  the  sunlight.  And  how  often  you  and  I  have  stopped 
to  listen  to  the  plash  and  ripple  of  its  waters  as  we 
walked  along  the  banks.  I  remember  what  company 
that  music  was  to  me,  one  dark  night,  a  good  wrhile  ago, 


A    SECRET.  81 

when  I  was  returning  from  a  long  tramp  up  the  valley. 
Just  so,  since  the  loss  of  my  eyesight  has  made  for  me 
continual  night,  you  scarcely  would  believe,  Harry,  how 
many  times  I  have  been  cheered  by  your  merry  flow  of 
spirits.  As  sister  says,  we  have  missed  you.  It  is  no 
small  thing  to  be  missed  by  one's  friends  when  he  is 
away  from  them.  Nor  is  such  a  good-for-nothing, 
stove-up  piece  of  humanity  as  myself  the  only  one  you 
can  find  to  cheer,  if  you  will  look  about  you.  Life  is 
full  of  shadows.  It  is  a  sorrowful  sort  of  night,  to 
multitudes  of  people.  Such  natures  as  yours  were 
meant  to  make  the  darkness  less  dreary,  and  when  you 
come  to  the  mill-wheels  to  turn  them." 

"  But  the  mill-wheels  ?  I  don't  exactly  understand 
about  that." 

"  Well,  for  instance,  the  weather  is  growing  cold ; 
winter  is  not  far  off.  We  sit  here  by  a  fire  and  find  it 
very  comfortable.  There  are  a  good  many  to-night  who 
haven't  any  fire.  We  have  had  our  supper.  There  are 
a  good  many  who  must  go  without.  If  you  will  notice 
in  the  streets  to-morrow,  you  will  see  little  feet  shoe- 
less, stockingless.  People  who  go  without  food,  and 
fire,  and  sufficient  clothing,  get  sick,  have  fevers,  diph- 
theria, what  not  ?  But,  unfortunately,  the  fevers,  and 
so  forth,  won't  stay  shut  up  in  alleys  and  tumble-down 
tenements  ;  they  creep  out,  out  into  the  broad  streets, 


82  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

into  the  fine  mansions  of  brick  and  stone,  and  all  over 
the  city,  hunting  for  the  cunning  little  Ediths,  the 
pretty  Maries." 

"  Oh,  I  never  thought  of  that !  " 

"  People  who  haven't  food,  and  fire,  and  warm  cloth- 
ing, often  attempt  to  steal  them,  or  the  wherewithal  to 
pay  for  them.  People  who  steal,  if  they  are  caught  at 
it,  go  to  prison.  When  they  come  out  again  nobody 
will  trust  them  oc  employ  them.  Since  they  cannot 
find  work,  and  have  got  to  live  somehow,  what  must 
they  do  ?  Steal.  So  it  comes  about  that  a  great  many 
people  steal  for  a  living.  And  where  did  all  this  crime 
commence  ?  Like  the  fevers,  with  the  lack  of  food,  and 
fire,  and  clothing.  As  Tennyson's  '  Northern  Farmer  ' 
says: — 

"  '  'Tisn'  them  as  'as  munny  as  breaks  into  'ouses  an'  steals, 
Them  as  'as  coats  to  their  backs  and  taaks  their  regular  meals. 
Noa,  but  it's  them  as  niver  knaws  wheer  a  meal's  to  be  'ad. ' " 

"  That  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  fellow  that  broke  into 
our  house." 

"  This  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  Why,  you  see,  one  night  last  winter  I  thought  I 
heard  somebody  in  the  dining-room.  So  down  I  went. 
There  'e  was  at  the  sideboard.  He'd  got  it  open,  and 
was  taking  the  silver  out.  Well,  I  pitched  at  'im — you 
know  I'm  some  on  the  muscle — and  got  hold  of  his  re- 


A  SECRET.  83 

volver,  and  there  I  had  'im.  But  my  !  he  looked  so 
starved,  and  kind  of  forlorn,  and  hollow-eyed,  I  opened 
the  front  door  for  'im  and  let  'im  go.  Expect  I  ought 
to  'ave  handed  'im  over  to  the  police.  Guess  I  never 
told  of  it  before.  It  might  scare  the  women-folks,  you 
know.  But  wouldn't  it  give  Aunt  Sophi  the  fidgets? 
After  that  I  used  to  sleep  with  one  ear  open.  She 
didn't  know  she  was  sending  away  her  watch-dog  when 
she  hustled  me  off  to  school  in  such  a  hurry." 

The  Lieutenant  reflects.  Here  is  a  boy  who  does  not 
hesitate  to  cope  with  a  burglar,  who  has  been  known  to 
risk  his  own  life  to  rescue  a  drowning  companion,  and 
yet  is  loth  to  enter  his  home  from  dread  of  an  Aunt 
Sophia's  tongue. 

"Then  turning  the  mill-wheels,"  Harry  resumes, 
"  that  means  helping  the  poor  ?  " 

"Partly,  yes.  Though,  as  one  thinks  about  it,  it 
seems  to  imply  much  more." 

"But  where's  a  body  to  begin?  There's  poverty 
enough,  I  suppose  ;  but  some  are  so  proud  you  can't 
get  at  'em,  and  some,  but  they've  got  the  cheek  !  dog- 
ging you  and  sticking  their  paws  out  for  a  penny  every 
turn  you  take.  I  always  think  they're  sham." 

"  It  might  be  a  good  way  to  exercise  one's  ingenuity 
finding  out.  As  for  the  pride,  .you've  read  in  the  story- 
books of  the  needfuls  that  found  their  way  mysteri- 


84:  STORIES   AND   BALLADS. 

ously  to  empty  cupboards.  It  sounds  rather  fanciful ; 
yet  there  are  people  who  take  great  delight  in  putting 
romance  into  real  life,  and  a  generous  deed  is  none  the 
worse  for  being  delicately  done." 

"But  that  would  be  jolly,  now!  Jinks  !  I'd  go  at  it 
to-morrow  if  I  only  knew  where  to  begin." 

"Sister  could  give  you  more  information  on  that 
subject  than  I  can.  You  two  will  have  to  put  your 
heads  together  and  talk  it  over.  Ah,  yes  !  and  I  have 
in  mind  a  little  newsboy  to  whom  you  can  be  of  ser- 
vice. I  really  believe  our  rollicking  Harry  would  be 
better  satisfied  with  himself  for  using  some  of  his  ex- 
tra energy  and  pocket-money  in  these  ways.  Come, 
let  him  give  the  Tabbies,  and  Old  Williamses,  as  he 
calls  them,  a  rest.  There's  something  better  for  him 
to  do  than  worrying  them.  As  I  heard  said  once: 
'  There  is  so  much  to  be  done  in  this  world !  There  are 
so  few  to  do  it.'  You  are  going  to  be  one  of  those  few, 
surely.  A  rich  man's  son  has  it  in  his  pOAver  to  set  a 
great  many  wheels  in  motion.  You  see  the  Lieutenant 
is  quite  a  sermonizer  when  he  gets  fairly  started.  But 
I  have  taken  this  opportunity  to  be  earnest,  for  once, 
and  before  it  is  too  late." 

Before  it  is  too  late !  Harry,  who  has  been  wonder- 
ing, the  while,  at  this  serious  language,  so  uncommon 
from  his  genial  friend,  wonders  still  more  at  that  expres- 
sion. What  does  he  mean?  He  asks,  finally. 


A  SECHET.  £5* 

"  I'm  half  sorry  I  let  the  words  escape  me  ;  but  now 
that  I  have  aroused  your  curiosity,  and  since  you  trust 
me  with  your  secrets,  well,  yes,  I  will  tell  you.  You 
know  one  mustn't  expect  to  engage  in  battles  and  come 
out  whole  and  sound.  One  day  a  small,  round  piece  of 
lead  discharged  from  a  rifle  took  lodgings  in  my  shoul- 
der, and  has  since  been  slowly  working  its  way  down 
towards  my  heart.  So  it  seems  that  a  bullet  is  to  be 
the  death  of  me  after  all." 

Harry  stares  at  the  Lieutenant  in  mute  amazement. 
Death !  He  suddenly  becomes  aware  how  strong  are 
the  cords  of  love  which  bind  him  to  the  blind  man.  To 
lose  him,  his  best  friend !  No  more  confidential  talks, 
him  no  more  to  come  to  in  trouble,  and  doubt,  and 
perplexity,  and  lay  open  all  one's  thoughts !  he  who 
first  discovered  good  in  the  wayward  nature — a  little, 
tender  plant,  so  covered  by  the  dust  that  others  could 
not  see,  and  helped  it  to  grow  and  thrive  in  spite  of  the 
trampling  that  else  would  have  destroyed  it. 

"  Oh,  Lieutenant !  it  isn't  true  !  Something  can  be 
done !  " 

No,  it  appears  from  the  reply,  nothing  can  be  done. 

"  Nobody  knows  ?  Katy  doesn't  know  ?  "  the  boy 
asks,  at  length,  in  a  husky,  tremulous  voice. 

"  The  surgeon  and  Lem  have  known  of  it  only.  It 
was  on  sister's  account  that  I  wished  the  matter  to  be 


86  STORIES   AND   BALLADS. 

kept  quiet.  I  wanted  to  spare  her  the  sadness  as 
long  as  possible.  But  I  must  tell  her  very  soon.  It 
will  not  do  for  it  to  come  upon  her  too  suddenly.  Ah, 
my  Katy  !  "  and  another  voice  is  low  and  tremulous. 

"Is  it  painful-ever?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  And  you've  kept  it  to  yourself  all  these  years  ! 
We  didn't  know  !  " 

From  the  chimney  corner  where  he  has  been  loung- 
ing Harry  gazes  once  more  at  the  patient  face,  pallid 
from  silent,  secret  suffering,  at  the  empty  sleeve,  at 
the  eyes  which  cannot  see  ;  then  he  throws  himself  flat 
upon  the  carpet  in  a  fifc  of  weeping — he  who  so  rarely 
sheds  a  tear — and  his  surprise,  and  grief,  and  anger, 
take  expression  in  one  passionate  outcry  against  the 
war  which  caused  all  this — that  brothers'  war  ! 

But  as  he  lies  there  sobbing,  listening  to  some  calm 
and  soothing  words,  there  comes  to  him — even  to 
Harry — a  remembrance  of  a  face  he  has  somewhere 
seen  pictured.  That,  too,  was  a  pallid  face  and  patient. 
It  drooped  from  a  cross ;  and  the  brow  was  encircled 
by  thorns ;  and  underneath  was  written  : 

IT  IS.  FINISHED. 


CONSOLATION. 


"It's  lonesome  without  him!" 

You  may  have  noticed  those  high  walls  which  some 
build  about  their  houses  and  grounds,  so  high  you  can 
get  but  a  glimpse  of  the  tree-tops  above  them ; .  the 
shady  walks,  and  gushing  fountains,  and  green  grass- 
pi  ats,  and  bright  flowers  are  entirely  hidden  from  view. 

A  certain  great  man  died,  and  the  tidings  was  car- 
ried swiftly  and  far,  for  his  name  was  known  to  many 
nations.  All  over  the  land  there  were  public  demon- 
strations of  mourning,  and  numberless  and  eloquent 
were  the  eulogies  pronounced.  Thus  he  who,  living, 
had  been  laden  with  honors  and  distinctions,  went  in 
pomp  and  honor  to  his  burial.  Yet  somehow  we  do 
not  hear  that  any  one  was  really  very  sorry  because  of 
his  death,  much  less  that  any  little  children  wept 
because  of  it.  Had  his  greatness  been  like  a  high 
wall,  concealing  whatever  was  sunny  and  winsome  in 
his  nature  ?  On  the  same  hillside  where  that  great  man 
was  laid  to  rest  there  is  a  new-made  grave  beneath  the 

cedars,  and  not  very  many  people  know  anything  about 

(87) 


8b  STORIES    AND    BALLADS. 

it ;  but  among  those  who  do  there  is  a  void,  as  when 
the  fire  goes  out  upon  the  hearth-stone,  and  all  is  cold 
and  desolate.  "  It  is  no  small  thing  to  be  missed  by 
one's  friends  when  he  is  away  from  them."  Little  did 
he  consider,  who  spoke  thus,  how  truly  those  words 
would  soon  apply  to  himself.  And  here  one  might 
pause  to  ponder.  Which  is  preferable — to  be  so  great 
and  renowned  that  when  one  dies  the  news  will  be  told 
abroad  in  the  world,  or  to  be  so  genial  and  lovable  that 
even  a  little  child  will  weep  at  the  sight  of  his  vacant 

chair  ? 

When  we  are  sleeping  in  our  graves  so  still, 
When  we  are  sleeping  in  (our  graves  so  low, 
Ah,  who  will  care  to  know  ? 
Ah,  who  will  ? 

A  wee  bird  made  its  nest  out  in  the  porch  last 
May,  and  lived  there  the  summer  long.  But  the  sum- 
mer is  gone,  and  the  winter  is  come  again,  and  the  bird 
has  flown  away,  and  the  nest  is  empty,  and  the  snow  is 
on  it  and  on  the  ground,  and  the  clouds  are  gray  and 
threatening,  and  again  the  wind  wails  at  the  casements, 
moans  down  the  chimney.  Lem,  coming  in  to  replenish 
the  fire,  sees  the  form  shivering  over  it  in  spite  of  the 
warmth,  sees  the  wide,  tearless  eyes,  with  the  new, 
strange  look  in  them,  sees  the  carpet  strewn  with  rem- 
nants of  a  rare  and  fragrant  bouquet,  Harry's  gift,  tors 
to  bits  by  nervous  fingers. 


CONSOLATION.  89 

"Miss  Katy,"  and  lie  lays  his  hand  gently  on  her 
head,  "  try  to  think  of  something  else ;  jess  try. 
Think  of  all  the  poor  folks  you  an'  Mr.  Harry's  got 
on  the  dockit,  an'  what'll  become  of  'em  if  you  don't 
pick  up  sperrits  an'  help  'im  look  after  'em  a  little. 
Come,  they's  no  time  to  be  settin'  here  idle  ! "  You 
would  hardly  guess  his  voice  was  choking,  and  that 
tears  were  streaming  down  his  black  face. 

"  Oh,  Lem,"  she  answers  drearily,  "  I'm  tired ;  I'm 
tired  of  living.  I  can't  care  for  anything  any  more." 

"  But  you  must  care,  honey.  What'll  become  of  poor 
old  'Liza  an'  me  if  Katy  goes  off  an'  leaves  us  too  ?  " 

But  she  only  hovers  more  closely  over  the  fire,  staring 
at  it  vacantly.  And  the  wind  moans  and  wails  down  the 
chimney. 

Lem  returns  to  the  kitchen  to  consult  with  his  wife, 
Eliza,  as  to  what  shall  be  done  for  her  in  whose  wel- 
fare they  have  felt  such  a  tender  interest  since,  years 
ago,  she  and  her  brother  were  left  orphans.  Not  all 
the  heartfelt  sympathy  of  young  and  old,  and  the 
loving  little  attentions  of  the  children,  seem  to  be  of 
any  avail.  Eliza  advises  to  go  for  Edith.  "  She  used 
to  'muse  Master  Wallie." 

But  once  in  the  room,  her  toys  about  her,  Edith  soon 
ceases  to  play.  There  is  a  change.  Somebody  is  gone 
who  used  to  be  here.  She  may  somewhat  have  forgot- 


•JO     .  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

ten  all  that  lias  been  passing  of  late,  scarcely  can  have 
understood  what  has  been  told  her ;  but  whether  she 
thinks  about  it  or  not,  or  remembers,  even,  she  feels  a 
want.  "It's  lonesome  without  him!"  Ah,  that  is  it; 
and  she  begins  to  sob,  creeping  close  to  Kate.  But 
what  new  thing  is  this?  Katy  doesn't  notice  her? 
Those  queer,  staring  eyes,  that  do  not  turn  and  smile 
upon  her,  they  are  not  Katy's  eyes.  That  white,  stony 
face,  that  is  not  like  Katy,  either.  And  all  the  while 
the  wind  is  moaning  and  wailing,  and  the  gloomy 
clouds  grow  gloomier,  making  the  day  dreary  and  the 
room  dreary.  Everything  is  dreary  and  lonesome,  and 
not  as  it  used  to  be.  She  flies  into  the  hall,  crying  and 
calling  to  Lem,  below. 

"  Take  me  home  !  I'm  afraid !  Katy  isn't  Katy  any 
more  ! " 

"Oh,  come  back,  Edie  !  "  calls  Kate,  arousing  at  that 
pitiful  little  cry  and  holding  out  her  hands  to  the  child. 
"Don't  go  away  and  leave  Katy  all  alone!  She'll  be 
good  now.  She's  sorry  she  scared  Edie ;  she  didn't 
mean  to." 

" Are  you  all  alone?"  Edith  has  stopped  crying 
suddenly.  There  is  a  peculiar  earnestness  in  her  look 
as  she  questions. 

"  Yes,  Edie,  all  alone  !  all  alone  ! "  and  the  answer 
ends  almost  in  a  wail. 


CONSOLATION.  91 

"  Then  it's  there — there,  Behind  the  book — the  paper 
that  he  did  write  on.  I  must  give  it  to  you  when  you 
was  all  alone,  he  said — my  captain.  He  said,  would  I 
'member?  Ha,  ha !  I  did  'member,  didn't  I?  " 

Kate  opens  the  book-case,  and  finds,  as  the  child 
said,  a  folded  paper  behind  one  of  the  encyclopaedias, 
It  contains  some  lines  written  with  pencil,  so  run- 
ning together,  lines  and  words,  as  to  be  almost  unread- 
able. As  she  recognizes  that  handwriting  and  slowly 
deciphers  it,  the  tears  come  at  last  like  rain.  Edith, 
no  longer  afraid,  wipes  them  away  with  her  little  white 
apron,  murmuring,  the  while,  all  sorts  of  baby  talk 

About  two  hundred  years  ago  there  lived  a  blind 
man  who  was  the  author  of  what  many  think  to  be  the 
greatest  of  poems.  But  wherever  that  wonderful  work 
is  read  and  admired,  there,  too,  it  is  told  how  his 
daughters,  with  one  exception,  were  unkind  to  him  and 
uiidutiful,  refusing  even  the  task  of  committing  to 
paper  those  immortal  verses.  However,  it  may  be  he 
was  a  trifle  to  blame,  himself.  (For  we  have  seen,  as 
in  that  other  case,  how  greatness  does  sometimes  build 
for  itself  a  barrier,  a  high,  impassable  wall.)  Suppose 
day  after  day  little  eyes  looked  up  wistfully,  and  he  did 
not  see — gazing  far  off  into  other  worlds  and  other  ages ; 
little  voices  whispered  timidly,  and  he  did  not  hear — : 
listening  to  the  converse  of  angels  ;  little  hands  clung 


92  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

caressingly,  but  unheeded.  Ah,  that  was  asking  for 
bread  and  getting  a  stone.  Suppose  it  made  some 
little  hearts  ache,  some  little  people  were  "afraid," 
finally,  like  Edith,  awhile  since.  So  when  they  grew 
up  and  he  grew  old  and  sightless,  what  came  of  it  all  ? 
Paradise  Lost,  to  be  marveled  at  as  long  as  the  English 
language  is  known  and  studied,  and  there  in  shadowy 
background,  the  mighty  genius,  poor  and  blind,  with 
his  unloving  daughters. 

And  now,  girl  readers,  here  is  that  writing  which  to 
her,  so  sorrowful,  is  like  a  consoling  message  from  the 
Beyond. 

FOB  MY   SWEET   SAINT   CATHERINE. 

TJiere  was  once  a  blind,  crippled,  helpless  hulk  of  humanity  who 
had  a  sister.  And  such  a  sister!  All  the  women  who  ever  wrote 
books,  or  painted  pictures,  or  spoke  or  sang  to  gaping  crowds,  weren't 
worth  her  little  finger.  At  least,  so  he  thougJit — this  selfish  fellow — 
and  with  good  reason.  For  lie  owed  it  to  her  that  life  was  not  a  bur- 
den ;  rather,  he  owed  it  to  her  that  life  was  a  pleasure.  Ah,  what 
could  she  have  done  that  she  did  not  do  for  him  ?  Like  a  good  fairy 
she  hovered  about  him,  studying  and  scheming  for  his  comfort  and 
diversion  from  morning  till  night.  Would  he  be  read  to?  She 
would  read  to  him  by  the  hour.  Did  some  rhyme  or  foolish  fancy 
escape  him  ?  She  was  only  too  eager  to  preserve  it.  She  was  eyes  for 
him,  she  was  his  good  right  hand,  she  was  everything!  Ah,  how 
unmindful  of  self ,  how  thoughtful  of  him  al trays. f  ev.n  striving  to 
forget  somo  sorrows  of  her  own,  lest  her  sadness  might  make  him  sad.' 
And  now  that  he  is  gone,  and  she  has  nothing  to  regret — tiot  one  im- 
patient word  or  act — and  to  remember  only  unwearied,  loving  care, 
ceaseless  devotion,  let  her  be  comforted.  Surely  "she  hath  done  what 


CONSOLATION.  93 

she  could."  Oh,  my  sister,  my  sister,  bs  comforted!  and  let  us  dare 
hope  that  of  those  who  watch  over  thee,  unseen,  he  who  writes  tliis  may 
be  one." 

Daylight  slowly  fades  from  tli3  wintry  sky,  the  lire- 
light  flickers  up  and  down  the  wall,  and,  as  night  de- 
scends, little  Edith  falls  to  sleep  in  Kate's  arms.  But 
are  these  two  alone?  For  though  there  is  seen  no 
shape  among  the  shadows,  nor  is  heard  the  sound  of  any 
voice,  what  is  that  something  that  like  a  radiance  sud- 
denly overspreads  the  bowed  face  ?  "  The  peace  which 
passeth  all  understanding." 


JULIE,  JTJLIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE 


I. 

"Who  could  she  be — the  little  stranger  asleep  in  the, 
cabin  ? 

Nobody  could  tell. 

She  must  have  come  aboard  unnoticed,  hours  ago, 
at  the  French  port  where  the  vessel  had  been  lying  for 
repairs.  Had  she  wandered  away  from  her  home,  and 
innocently  lain  down  here  to  rest  ?  In  that  home  there 
would  be  grief,  and  anxiety,  and  long  waiting,  or  ever 
she  would  return  ;  for  the  ship  was  now  many  leagues 
out  at  sea,  and  the  child  had  just  been  discovered. 

The  sound  of  voices  talking  the  matter  over  wakened 
the  little  girl,  and  she  shrank  timidly  from  all  the  eyes 
fixed  inquiringly  upon  her.  So  the  captain  sent  every 
one  away,  and  sat  down  by  her,  and  in  -her  own  lan- 
guage questioned: 

"  How  came  you  here,  little  one  ?  " 

"  Is  not  this,  then,  the  ship  which  goes  to  America  ? 
There  was  a  man  in  the  street  who  told  me  it  should 
go  to  America.  Is  it,  then,  a  mistake?  " 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  95 

"  No,  not  a  mistake.  And  you  wish  to  go  to  America?  " 

"  Oui,  monsieur.     I  go  to  Julien." 

"  And  who  is  Julien  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  brother." 

"  But  how  does  it  happen  that  you  go  alone  ?  " 

"  I  have  none  to  accompany  me." 

"  Have  you  neither  father  nor  mother?  " 

"  Non,  monsieur." 

"  Does  your  brother  know  you  are  coming?  " 

"  Non,  monsieur,  he  does  not  know  it.  It  will  be  a 
surprise." 

"  But  what  put  it  into  your  head,  little — what  shall 
I  call  you  ?  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Julie  Leblanc." 

"Well,  then,  my  little  Julie,  how  is  it  that  you  happen 
to  be  going  to  America?  America  is  a  long  way  off,  do 
you  know  it?  " 

"  But  no !  is  it,  then  ?  It  cannot  be  far  away  where 
Julien  is.  Is  it  farther  than  Paris  ?  " 

"  A  good  deal  farther,  Julie." 

"  But  what  to  do  !  No  home,  no  friend.    Only  Julien." 

"No  home,  no  friend  !  "  repeated  the  captain,  strok- 
ing the  dark  hair,  pityingly.  "  Did  the  father  fall  in 
battle?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  many  years  ago,  before -I  can  re- 
member." 


96  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  And  how  long  is  it  that  little  Julie  has  been  with- 
out  home  or  friends  ?  " 

"  Since  they  took  my  dear  mamma  away  to  the 
burial,"  answered  the  child,  her  eyes  brimming  with 
tears. 

After  awhile  the  captain  asked  : 

"  Julie,  do  you  know  just  where  your  brother  is,  in 
what  part  of  America  ?  " 

"In  what  part,  monsieur?  Is  it  then  so  great  a 
city?  But,  without  doubt,  there  will  be  one  who  can 
tell  me  where  he  lives.  In  our  village  one  knew  every- 
body." 

"  Whew ! "  exclaimed  the  captain,  twirling  his 
thumbs. 

"  Or  I  will  stand  at  the  corner  of  the  street  until  he 
passes  by.  I  shall  know  him,  without  doubt,  he  is  so 
handsome.  Oh,  monsieur,  I  would  know  him  anywhere. 
I  knew  him  instantly  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  al- 
though he  wore  the  clothes  of  Jacques,  the  mason." 

As  the  captain  seemed  interested,  Julie  explained: 

"  I  awoke  in  the  night.  It  was  the  dear  mamma  who 
stood  by  my  bed  with  a  candle  in  the  hand,  and  one 
with  her  like  Jacques  until  I  meet  his  beautiful  eyes. 
Then  I  laugh  gaily  and  cry,  *  Ah,  behold  thee,  my  bro- 
ther, covered  with  plaster !  and  thy  coat  too  large  for 
thee  !  Didst  thou  think  to  fool  me  ?  '  But  our  mother 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  97 

lays  the  finger  upon  her  lip,  and  her  face  is  very  pale  ; 
and  Julien  kisses  and  embraces  me  without  ceasing,  and 
with  tears,  and  I  know  not  what  to  make  of  it.  Soon 
they  go  out  and  I  fall  again  to  sleep.  Oh,  monsieur, 
he  came  that  same  night  to  America  !  It  was  not  an 
hour  after,  while  I  slept — mamma  has  told  me  it — that 
the  wicked  gendarmes  came  and  searched  the  house  for 
him !  " 

"  Ah  !  the  gendarmes !  and  why  ?  " 

"  Because — mamma  said — he  had  written  something 
in  the  journals  which  meant  that  the  Emperor  was  not 
a  good  Emperor  ;  and  for  that  the  wicked  gendarmes 
would  have  put  my  poor  brother  in  prison." 

"  Go  on,  my  pretty  one,"  said  the  captain,  smiling, 
<;  thou  knowest  how  to  talk.  Thou  art  more  entertain- 
ing than  a  book.  How  old  art  thou  ?  " 

"  Ten  years." 

"  You  are  small  for  that  age.  Have  you  ever  been  to 
school?" 

"  Never,  monsieur.  It  was  the  governess  who  taught 
me." 

"  T^he  governess — bah  !  Did  she  ever  see  a  geogra- 
phy?" 

"  Geography,  monsieur  ?  What  is  that  ?  Is  it  an 
animal  ?  " 

"  Bah !    What  did  she  teach  you  ?  " 


98  STOKffiS  AND  BALLADS. 

"  The  dance,  and  the  drawing,  and  the  embroidery, 
and  the  music — " 

"  The  music? — can  you  sing?  " 

"  A  little,  monsieur." 

"  Sing  me,  then,  a  little  song." 

So  Julie  sang  a  little  song.     It  was  the  "  Farewell.*1 

Adieu  !  ne  m'oublie  pas,  etc. 
"Bravo  !  "   applauded  the  captain  when  she  had  fin- 

v 

ished.     Then  he  went  up  on  deck. 

Julie  recollected  something  as  he  passed  out.  She 
carefully  drew  a  small  package  from  the  folds  of  her 
dress  and  ran  after  him.  The  rolling  of  the  ship  made 
her  dizzy.  She  reeled  and  would  have  fallen,  had  not 
a  sailor  caught  her  hand. 

"  Merci  "  (thank  you),  she  said. 

That  brought  another  to  the  rescue. 

"  Merci,  inerci  !  "  she  repeated. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  crew  came  to  learn  the  cause  of 
alarm. 

"  Merci,  merci,  merci !  "  she  screamed.  Would  they 
never  understand  ? 

The  captain  did,  and  laughed  heartily. 

"  And  what  can  I  do  for  mademoiselle  ?  "  he  asked 
as  she  approached,  smiling  at  sight  of  his  bronzed  and 
furrowed  face — already  that  of  an  old  friend  among 
this  crowd  of  seamen — strangers,  from  a  country  where 
"  nieivy !  "  is  a  frequent  exclamation. 


"Because  this,  mamma  eaid,  must  pay  for  my  voyage."— PAGE  99. 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  99 

**  Good  monsieur,  are  you  the  man  who  takes  the 
moneys  ?  Because  this,  mamma  said,  must  pay  for  my 
voyage."  She  gave  to  him  the  little  parcel. 

The  captain  opened  it,  and  found  therein  a  beautiful 
cross  of  solid  gold,  curiously  wrought  and  thickly  stud- 
ded with  precious  stones. 

"Will  it  not  do,  monsieur?  There  was  nothing  else. 
No  money.  The  woman  demanded  so  much  for  the 
room  and  all !  Poor  mamma  was  so  long  sick  !  Oh. 
monsieur,  monsieur,  but  for  that — if  she  had  not  been 
sick,  she  also  would  have  come  to  America — to  Julien! 
'  Take  it,'  she  said — all  so  slow — she  whispered  it  all 
so  slow — '  Take  it  and  go  to  Julien.  It  will  pay  the 
passage.'  And  she  whispered  still  a  little  more.  I 
could  not  hear.  But  I  thought  she  went  to  sleep. 
When  the  morning  came,  and  I  could  see  her  face — so 
pale !  so  cold !  so  still — 

"Here,  my  little  Julie,"  interrupted  the  captain, 
pressing  his  hand  an  instant  over  his  eyes,  "take  thy 
cross.  '  Keep  it.  Thou  shalt  have  it  to  remember  her 
by.  And  I — I  am  very  well  pleased  to  have  a  little 
passenger." 

"  Oh,  mon  oncle  !  how  good  you  are  !  "  and  the  child 
covered  his  great  brown  hand  with  kisses. 

The  captain  stooped  to  rub  her  soft  cheek  with  his 
grizzled  beard. 


100  STOEIES   AND    BALLADS. 

He  had  no  reason  to  be  surprised ;  for  wherever  JIP 
went,  the  wide  world  over,  did  not  all  children  call  him 
"Uncle?" 

II. 

"  When  was  it  your  brother  went  away,  Julie  ? — how 
long  ago  ?  can  you  remember  ?  "  the  captain  asked  one 
day  as  the  little  girl  paced  the  deck  at  his.  side,  her 
slender  hand  in  his. 

"It  is  a  very  long  time,  monsieur  inon  oncle,"  she 
answered  ;  and  after  thinking,  "  it  is  a  year." 

"  Now  try  to  remember,  if  you  can,  something  about 
the  place  where  he  lives.  Did  he  never  tell  you  about 
it  ? — did  he  write  no  letters  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mon  oncle  ;  often  to  our  mother,  and  for 
me,  one  time,  a  little  letter — all  in  an  envelope  by 
itself.  Always  I  carry  it  with  me.  Behold  it!"  she 
said,  drawing  it  from  her  pocket. 

"  Ah !  a  letter !  "  cried  the  captain,  greatly  relieved, 
"  that  will  help  us." 

It  was  dated  six  months  before,  and  postmarked 
"Philadelphia."  Within,  too,  was  given  the  name  of 
the  street,  and  even  the  number  of  the  residence. 

"Ah  !  "  gasped  the  captain,  more  relieved  than  ever. 

As  soon  as  the  vessel  arrived  in  port,  he  addressed 
some  lines  to  Julie's  brother.  But  as  the  days  passed 
and  he  received  no  answer,  he  went  himself  to  Phila- 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AST)  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAIKE.  101 

delpliia,  and  to  the  street  and  number  given  in  the  let- 
ter. No.  210  proved  to  be  a  boarding-house,  where, 
indeed,  the  person  inquired  for  had  stopped  a  short 
time.  He  had,  however,  gone  away  long  ago,  whither, 
no  one  could  tell.  The  captain  then  inserted  in  the 
newspapers  a  card  asking  information  concerning  his 
whereabouts.  "While  waiting  a  reply,  there  came 
orders  to  sail  with  a  cargo  for  the  "West  Indies.  (The 
captain's,  was  a  trading  vessel,  carrying  merchandise 
from  one  country  to  another.) 

What  was  to  be  done  with  little  Julie  ?  that  was  the 
question.  The  captain  went  finally  to  a  lawyer,  told 
him  her  story,  charged  him  to  make  inquiries  for  her 
brother.  Then  they  talked  awhile  together,  and  the 
lawyer  did  some  writing. 

After  that  the  captain  took  Julie  in  the  cars  to  a 
town  where  lived  a  friend  of  his.  Now,  his  friend,  his 
wife,  and  their  five  children  were  delighted  to  see  the 
captain.  They  always  were  when  he  came  home  from 
his  voyages.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  never  failed 
to  bring  such  costly  presents ;  this  time  a  beautiful 
gilt  harness  for  the  father — or  rather  for  a  pair  of  fine 
bays — elegant  French  silks  for  the  mother,  and  no  end 
of  toys  for  the  small  folks.  And  when  he  asked  Mrs. 
Lane  if  she  would,  as  a  favor,  take  Julie  into  her  home 
and  care  for  her  until  his  return  (he  did  not  expect  to 


102  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

be  gone  long,  he  said),  she  appeared  to  be  very  willing 
to  do  so. 

But  when  it  came  to  bidding  "  good-bye,"  and  the-* 
child  clung  to  him,  trembling  and  sobbing,  "  Oh,  mon 
oncle!  mon  oncle!  "  he  looked  troubled.  He  just  held 
her  close  for  a  moment,  gave  her  three  great  sailor 
kisses  that  echoed  from  cellar  to  garret,  and  ran  out  of 
the  house  without  a  word. 

No  sooner  had  the  captain's  ship  set  sail  than  Mrs. 
Lane  took  Julie  to  an  orphan  asylum. 

"  Send  her  off  somewhere,"  she  said  to  the  matron. 
"  A  home  in  the  West !  that  would  be  the  very  place 
for  her.  Ah,  the  West !  what  a  glorious  place  for  little 
homeless  wanderers ! " 

Riding  away  alone  in  her  easy  carriage,  she  muttered: 

"  The  idea  of  his  bringing  that  little  vagabond  for 
me  to  look  after !  I  don't  care  if  he  did  offer  to  pay 
her  board  (of  course  it  wouldn't  have  done  to  accept). 
I  don't  intend  to  make  my  house  a  harbor  for  every 
little  straggler  that  happens  along!  and  right  there 
with  the  children,  too !  What  do  I  know  about  her  ? 
What  does  he  ?  Maybe  her  story  is  true,  and  maybe 
it  isn't.  Those  French,  they  can  lie  !  And  then  she'd 
be  forever  harassing  me  about  that  brother  of  hers. 

Ha !  she'll  never  see  him  again  !  those  French  ! 

And  then  he's  taken  such  a  fancy  to  her ! — why,  she 


JTJLIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  103 

Calls  him  '  Uncle  '   already  !     Just  like  him  to  go  and 
spend  upon  her  the  half  he  owns — educate  her,  and  all 

that !     I  won't  have  it ! There  may  be  some 

trouble  over  my  sending  her  off? Well,  well, 

I'll  have  some  pretty  excuse  ready.     Time  enough  to 
invent  it  before  he  gets  back." 

(It  was  thought  that  the  captain  would  make  the 
little  Lanes  his  heirs,  for  they  were  great  favorites  with 

"Uncle  Jack.") 

III. 

At  the  asylum,  little  orphans  had  a  roof  to  shelter 
them  from  the  storms,  a  place  to  lay  their  tired  selves 
at  night,  food  to  eat  when  they  were  hungry,  clothes  to 
protect  them  from  the  cold.  But  there  was  no  mamma 
there,  no  Julien,  no  oncle  le  capitaine.  The  great 
clean  rooms,  with  their  whitewashed  walls,  were  so 
bare.  No  pretty  mats  on  the  floors,  no  carved  tables, 
no  silken  chairs  and  sofas,  no  crimson  curtains,  no  beau- 
tiful paintings  and  statuettes,  as  in  that  pleasant  village 
home  from  which  Julie  and  her  mother  fled  when  the 
terrible  armies  came  marching  on,  with  beat  of  drum 
and  thundering  of  cannon.  It  was  dreary  and  lone- 
some here.  Julie  could  not  understand  a  word  that 
was  spoken,  neither  could  any  one  understand  her. 
So  she  could  not  play  with  the  other  children,  but  sat 
alone  by  herself  watching  them  all  day— watching  in  a 


104  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

dream,  tlie  roar  of  the  briny  billows  still  ringing  in  her 
ears.  Now  and  then  she  cried  a  little  for  very  home- 
sickness ;  and  always  she  wondered  why  she  was  in  this 
place  and  why  Julien  did  not  come. 

One  day  a  lady  was  shown  into  the  school-room, 
where  the  children  sang  for  her.  Looking  about  upon 
their  faces  she  asked  : 

"  Who  is  that  delicate  little  creature  in  the  corner, 
with  the  dark  hair  and  eyes?  " 

The  matron  told  the  story  she.  had  heard  from  Mrs. 
Lane.  It  was,  she  said,  a  little  orphan  girl  who  had  re- 
cently come  over  in  an  emigrant  ship  from  France.  Her 
father  was  killed  in  the  battle  of  Sedan.  Did  the  lady 
know  of  any  one  who  would  like  to  adopt  the  child? 

"  Why,  I've  a  great  mind  to  take  her  myself.  She 
could  play  with  Charlie  and  Lizzie,  you  know,"  turning 
to  her  companion,  "  and  in  that  way  they  could  learn  to 
speak  French,  couldn't  they  ?  " 

•  So,  when  this  person — she  was  visiting  some  cousins 
in  town — when  she  returned  home  Julie  went  with  her ; 
why,  she  did  not  know,  but  she  supposed  it  must  be  the 
way  to  find  her  brother.  To  be  sure,  niadame  let  her 
hold  Lizzie  a  good  deal,  and  holding  Lizzie  made  one's 
arms  ache.  What  matter  ?  Julien  wrould  be  there, 
where  they  were  going  ! 

But  when  the  long  journey  was  ended,  and  they  left 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  105 

the  noisy  train,  and  monsieur  met  them,  all  smiles  at 
the  sight  of  wife  and  baby,  and  they  drove  through  the 
streets  to  monsieur's  house,  Julien  was  not  there  !  The 
child  was  ready  to  cry  from  disappointment.  She  sat 
down  by  the  window  and  watched  the  passers-by.  Per- 
haps one  would  be  Julien.  Now,  a  little  boy  of  five  or 
six  years,  after  being  fondled  and  caressed  by  mamma, 
and  having  given  baby  a  dutiful  but  hasty  kiss,  came 
and  planted  himself  in  front  of  her.  When  he  had  stared 
at  her  to  his  satisfaction,  he  demanded  : 

"  Who  be  you  ?  " 

Julie  could  not  understand,  and  so  how  could  she 
answer? 

"  Who  be  you,  I  say  ?  " 

No  reply. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak,  you  ninny,  you  ?" 

"  Bonjour,  mon  ami,"*  said  Julie,  scared  at  his  rough 
tones. 

"Bonny  Jew! — what's  the  rest  of  it?  Bonny  Jew ! 
Bonny  Jew !  Ha,  ha !  What  a  funny  name  !" 

Charley  caught  up  his  cap  and  ran  into  the  street  to 
tell  Willie  Wade  : 

"  There's  a  girl  in  there.  Her  name's  Bonny  Jew. 
She's  deef,  I  guess,  fur  I  couldn't  make  'er-  hear  till  I 
hollered  loud  enough  to  take  'er  head  off." 

*  Good-morning  (or  good-day),  my  friend. 


106  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

At  night,  madame  led  Julie  down  to  the  kitchen,  say- 
ing, "  Katrine,  you  may  let  her  sleep  with  you,"  and 
left  her  there. 

Katrine's  face  flushed  scarlet,  and  her  mild  eyes 
flashed  as  they  never  flashed  before.  Was  not  France 
at  that  very  hour  making  war  upon  her  countrymen  ? 
Were  not  all  French,  then,  her  enemies  ?  She  took  up 
the  lamp  and  strode  toward  her  chamber.  Julie,  afraid 
to  be  left  in  the  dark,  followed  after.  The  door  was 
locked  in  her  face. 

Madame  coming  into  the  basement  for  a  glass  of  wa- 
ter, late  in  the  evening,  stumbled  over  the  child  lying 
asleep  on  the  hall  floor,  just  outside  of  Katrine's  room. 
She  tried  the  door,  and  finding  it  fastened,  called 
through  the  keyhole:  "  Katrine  !  Katrine  !  " 

Katrine  either  did  not  hear  or  pretended  not  to.  She 
was  snoring  right  loyally  between  two  immense  feather 
beds  Avhich  had  kept  her  company  all  the  way  from  Yat- 
erland.  The  lounge  in  the  back  parlor,  with  some  shawls 
and  cushions,  would  serve  for  Julie's  couch  this  time. 

"Katrine,"  asked  madame,  "  what  did  you  mean  by 
locking  Julie  out  of  your  room  last  night?  " 

"  I  vill  not  haf  der  Franchen  mit  me  in  my  ped  ! ' 

"  Why,  Katrine,  I  think  you  are  very  unreasonable." 

"  I  care  not  vat  you  tinks  !  I  vill  go  find  me  anodder 
blacs  !  " 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  107 

But  madame  couldn't  afford  to  lose  Katrine.  Katrine 
was  a  treasure.  Katrine  could  cook,  and  wash,  and  iron, 
and  do  all  kinds  of  work  to  perfection.  She  was  tidy, 
and  she  was  industrious,  and  always  good-tempered  till 
now.  So,  instead  of  her  finding  "  anodder  blace,"  a  bed 
was  made  for  Julie  in  the  attic — the  low,  wide,  win- 
dowless  attic,  where  not  a  breath  of  air  moved  in  sum- 
mer, where  the  winds  whistled  and  moaned  in  winter, 
where  the  rats  and  mice  held  revels  all  the  year  round 
— the  great,  gloomy  attic,  with  its  mysterious  chests 
and  closets,  where  curious  shadows  dwelt ;  strewn  with 
mysterious  hats,  and  boots  and  shoes,  that  took  strange 
shapes  after  the  sun  went  down;  hung  about  with  mys- 
terious outcasts — old  gowns,  and  crinolines,  and  coats, 
that  weirdly  swayed  and  swung  on  boisterous  autumn 
nights  ;  the  dreadful  attic,  where,  hour  after  hour,  when 
she  ought  to  have  been  enjoying  sweet,  blessed  sleep, 
little  tired  Julie  lay  wide-eyed,  staring  at — she  knew 
not  what,  listening  to — she  knew  not  what,  trembling, 
shivering,  the  sweat  upon  her  brow. 

"  Oh,  madame,  fai  peur  !  "  *  she  said  once,  lingering 
when  bedtime  came. 

But  madame  didn't  understand. 

The  weeks  passed  by.  Julien  did  not  come.  Would 
he  ever  come  ?  The  question  was  often  put  to  madame. 

*J  am  fifraicl. 


108  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

But  she  didn't  understand.  Julie  began  to  grow  dis- 
couraged. Baby  was  so  heavy !  and  she  was  cutting 
teeth,  too,  and  worried  and  fretted.  Some  new  play- 
thing must  be  invented  every  five  minutes  to  amuse 
and  keep  her  quiet.  She  must  be  sung  to,  rocked,  car- 
ried backward  and  forward,  to  and  fro,  drawn  in  her 
carriage  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  wearily,  wearily,  up 
and  down.  As  for  Charley,  he  learned  to  speak  less 
good  French  of  Julie  than  he  hurled  bad  English  at  her. 
During  his  mother's  visit  East,  he  had  improved  the 
chance  for  making  acquaintance  with  all  the  boys  on 
the  street,  and  thus  had  considerably  increased  the  list 
of  words  at  his  command.  One  day,  Lizzie's  dimpled 
fingers  found  the  ribbon  about  Julie's  neck.  Out  in 
full  sight  flew  the  precious  cross.  Julie  hastened  to 
hide  it,  but  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  had  caught  the  glitter. 

"What's  that?  What's  that  shiny  thing  you've  got 
there,  Julie  ?  I  want  to  see  it !  "  cried  the  tormentor, 
darting  toward  her. 

She  thrust  out  her  hand  to  keep  him  off.  He  flung 
it  aside  and  clutched  at  the  ribbon. 

"  Non  !  non  !  "  she  screamed,  pushing  him  away. 

At  that  he  became  furious,  kicking  and  biting,  and 
pulling  her  hair.  Julie,  dropping  the  baby,  shrieked 
with  pain.  Baby  began  to  cry  lustily.  The  uproar 
reached  the  drawing-room,  where  there  were  callers. 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE. 


100 


Madame  came  rushing  in  to  still  the  noise.  Charley, 
who  had  succeeded  in  tearing  it  away,  now,  triumph- 
ant, held  up  the  cross. 

"  See,  ma,  see !  She  had  it  hid  in  'er  neck !  She 
stole  it,  you  bet !  " 

"  Oh,  donnez-la  moi !  donnez-la  moi !  "*  sobbed 
Julie. 

Madame  hadn't  time  to  inquire  into  the  matter. 
She  took  the  cross  away  from  Charley,  though  he 
stoutly  resisted,  locked  it  in  a  drawer  of  her  writing- 
desk,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket  and  then  went  back  to 
her  guests. 

The  young  gentleman  picked  at  the  lock  with  his 
pencil. 

"  You  plagued  old  thing  !  "  he  muttered,  shaking  his 
fist  and  scowling  at  Julie,  "  if  you  hadn't  a'  raised  such 
a  rumpus  she'd  never  a'  knowed,  and  I'd  a'  traded  it  off 
fur  Tommy  Tough's  pearl-handled  penknife — plague 
take  you !  " 

After  the  visitors  had  gone,  Julie,  pointing  to  the 
writing-desk,  entreated: 

"  Oh,  madarne,  la  give,  la  give  !  a  present,  s'il  vous 
please !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  by  and  by." 

But  "  by  and  by,"  madame  had  forgotten.     She  did 

,  give  it  to  me  !  give  it  to  me. 


HO  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

not  remember,  indeed,  until  she  opened  the  drawer  to 
get  her  portemonnaie  before  going  out  shopping. 

"  Some  cheap  gew-gaw,  possibly,"  she  thought, 
taking  up  the  cross.  "  I  don't  know,  though  !  Can 
this  be  glass  ?  Wonder  how  she  came  by  it  ?  Can  it 
possibly  be  of  any  value  ? .  .  .  I've  a  great  mind  to  take 
it  down  to  Forsyth's  and  see  what  he  says.  He'll  know 
the  moment  he  lays  eyes  on  it." 

Down  to  Forsyth's  she  took  it. 

"  Mr.  Forsyth,"  she  said,  handing  it  across  the  coun- 
ter, "  here  is  a  little  trinket  that  has  accidentally  come 
into  my  possession  lately.  I'd  like  your  opinion  as  to 
its  worth." 

The  jeweler's  eyes  sparkled  like  the  precious  gems, 
as  he  held  them  to  the  light. 

"  Why,  Mrs. ,  you  have  here  a  treasure  !  Those 

stones  ! — genuine  article  !  "  and  examining  more  closely: 
"It's  very  old.  Just  observe  the  chasing.  You  know 
nothing  of  its  history  ?  " 

"No.     You  consider  it  of  value,  then?  " 

"Of  value?  I  would  give  five  hundred  dollars  any 
day,  Mrs.  -  — ,  to  become  possessor  of  that  cross."  He 
added  eagerly,  "  Could  you  not  be  induced  to  part  with 
it?" 

Five  hundred  dollars  !  Madame's  glance  fell  upon 
a  silver  tea-service  which  she  had  long  coveted. 


JtfLlti,  JULTEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAlNfi.  Ill 

"  Possibly.  I'll  think  about  it,"  she  said,  and  went 
her  way. 

Such  a  lovely  blue  moire  in  one  of  the  shop  windows 
— five  dollars  a  yard.  It  made  one's  mouth  water  to 
look  at  it.  Such  a  lovely  Brussels  in  another! — the 
parlors  needed  carpeting  anew.  Such  lovely,  lovely 
things  in  all  the  windows !  that  one  really  oug lit  to  have. 
As  for  the  child,  of  what  earthly  use  could  that  costly 
trinket  ever  be  to  her?  Like  as  not  she  stole  it,  as 
Charley  said. 

"When  madame  reached  home  her  purse  was  even 
better  filled  than  when  she  started  out,  and  the  silver 
tea-set  would  be  sent  up  from  Forsyth's  to-morrow. 
Meantime  a  curious  piece  of  workmanship  in  the  jew- 
eler's show-case  was  attracting  much  attention. 

What  a  queer  way  to  find  the  brother  is  tljis — tend- 
ing Lizzie  and  being  knocked  about  by  Charley,  and 
robbed  of  mamma's  last  gift !  Julie  fears  she  will 
never  get  it,  for  when  she  asked  madame  for  it  again, 
madame  blushed  an,d  did  not  reply.  What  strange 
people  these  Americans  are !  They  make  little  chil- 
dren take  care  of  little  children !  And  she  is  afraid  of 
Charley.  She  trembles  now  to  think  of  him.  And 
who  is  that  creature  peering  out  of  the  closet  over 
there  ? 


112  BfORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

It  is  like  the  woman  who  let  the  room  where  mamma 
was  taken  sick. 

Why,  this  is  that  room !  and  here  is  the  mother  bej 
side  her. 

Julie  leans  over  and  asks: 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  waken,  my  mother  ?  Behold, 
the  sun  is  high.  Why  dost  thou  sleep  so  long  ?  Why 
art  thou  so  cold  and  pale  ?  Mamma !  Mamma !  " 

The  silken  lashes  are  not  lifted  from  the  marble 
cheek  ;  the  white  lips  make  no  answer. 

"  She  is  so  weary,  I  will  not  disturb  her.  I  will 
watch  until  she  wakens." 

The  morning  creeps  away,  the  noon,  and  the  after- 
noon, and  now  the  evening  comes. 

"  Mamma !  my  dear  mamma ! " 

Still  the  eyelids  are  not  lifted,  and  the  white  lips  are 
dumb. 

The  night  goes  by,  and  a  day,  and  another  night,  and 
the  morning  dawns  once  more.  And  again  the  woman 
comes  peering  through  the  door. 

"  She  is  dead,"  Julie  hears  her  say. 

Men  enter  and  carry  the  mother  away. 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  my  poor  mamma? " 

"  We  are  going  to  bury  her." 

"  You  shall  not  bury  her !  You  shall  not  take  her 
away,"  cries  Julie. 


JULIE,  JULEEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  113 

They  thrust  lier  back  with  rough  hands.  They  will 
not  let  her  follow.  The  woman  locks  her  in.  She  is 
left  alone,  alone. 

The  day  goes  by,  the  noon,  and  the  afternoon.  The 
shadows  reach  out  after  her  like  claws.  She  crouches 
in  the  chimney-corner,  staring  at  them  through  the 
long,  dark  hours. 

At  midnight  the  woman  glides  stealthily  in,  glides 
stealthily  about,  peering,  peering  with  wicked  eyes. 
She  fumbles  among  the  bedding,  opens  the  trunk,  takes 
out  its  contents  carefully. 

"  Nothing,  nothing  !  "  she  hisses  between  clenched 
teeth. 

She  glides  stealthily  towards  the  child.  Julie  holds 
the  cross  in  her  hand. 

"  What  have  you  there,  little  wretch  ?  "  demands  the 
woman,  trying  to  wrest  it  from  her. 

Julie  will  not  give  it  up.  With  a  sudden  bound  she 
escapes,  runs  out  of  the  room,  out  of  the  house,  down 
the  path,  away,  away,  through  the  fields.  On,  and  on, 
she  hurries,  not  daring  to  look  back.  Daylight  comes, 
and  still  she  walks  on.  After  awhile  she  grows  faint. 
She  sits  down  by  the  roadside  to  rest.  A  peasant  girl 
passes  by  with  a  basket  on  her  arm. 

"  Does  this  road  go  to  the  place  where  one  finds  the 
ships  ?  "  asked  Julie. 


1H  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Oui,  mademoiselle." 

When  Julie  is  rested,  she  rises  and  walks  on.  Still 
on  and  on.  The  way  is  long.  At  last  the  houses  are 
thick  together.  Beyond  is  the  blue  sea.  There  are  the 
ships,  many,  with  white  sails. 

"  Which  one  goes  to  America  ?  "  asks  Julie  of  a  man 
lounging  about  the  wharf. 

He  points  to  one  from  which  floats  a  beautiful  flag. 

While  she  looks,  the  great  flag  comes  fluttering, 
fluttering  doAvn — fluttering,  floating  before  her,  float- 
ing about  her,  wrapping  her  in  its  folds;  then  back 
it  flies,  whizzing  through  the  air,  up,  up,  up,  among  the 
tall  masts,  so  high  above  the  water!  Julie  is  dizzy, 
and  tries  to  catch  at  the  ropes.  Lo !  her  hands  are 
pinioned.  She  cannot  move  them.  A  huge  serpent  is 
coiled  about  her — a  huge  serpent  striped  its  whole 
length  with  red  and  white.  The  coils  are  tightening, 
tightening.  She  cannot  breathe.  She  struggles  to  be 
free.  A  flaming  head  swoops  suddenly  down.  Two 
terrible  eyes  glare  at  her — two  eyes — two  glittering 

stars. 

IY. 

"  Katrine,"  said  madame,  "  go  and  call  Julie.  Why, 
here  it's  seven  o'clock,  and  she  not  up  yet !'  I  never 
knew  her  to  lie  abed  like  this  before.  Tell  her  she 
must  come  down  right  away  and  dress  the  baby." 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  115 

Katrine  came  back  in  a  few  minutes,  looking  fright- 
ened. 

"  I  calls  von,  dwo,  dree  dimes.  She  vill  not  hear. 
Den  I  goes  oop  der  shtep  und  calls  von  more  dime. 
She  vill  not  ondershtand.  She  shtare  mit  de  eyes 
vide — und  see  notting !  Den  she  schream  like  murter." 

"  Why,  mercy  on  us,  Dolf ! "  exclaimed  madame, 
glancing  across  the  breakfast-table  at  her  husband, 
"  what  if  the  child's  sick  !  some  fever  or  other ! — 
something  catching  ! — and  these  children ! — she  ought 
to  be  got  out  of  the  house  immediately !  .  .  .  St.  Mary's 
Hospital!  Yes,  that's  the  place.  She's  Catholic,  I  be- 
lieve. Katrine  ! — no,  wait !  perhaps  it  isn't  anything 
serious,  after  all.  We  must  find  out  first.  Dolf,  what 
if  you  leave  word  for  Dr.  Smith  to  call  round  as  you  go 
down  street  ?  No,  stay ! "  in  an  undertone,  "  don't 
send  him.  Get  some  one  that  doesn't  go  in  our  set — 
some  stranger.  Being  up  in  the  attic  so,  it  might  get 
out  that  we  didn't  treat  her  well.  You  know  how  ab- 
surdly people  will  talk,  sometimes.  Can't  you  think 
of  some  one  else  we  can  call  in  ?  " 

"Well,  I  d-o-n'-t  know.  Let  me  see.  Why,  yes, 
there's  that  young  fellow  who  has  stuck  up  his  shin- 
gle a  few  doors  off  from  the  office.  Foreigner,  I  be- 
lieve. Hasn't  any  too  much  custom,  should  judge. 
Might  get  him." 


116  STOBIES  AND   BALLADS. 

"  A  foreigner.     Oh,  yes  ;  that  will  do  very  well." 

In  half  an  hour  the  young  physician  rang  the  door- 
bell. He  was  shown  up  to  the  attic  by  Katrine'.  As 
he  mounted  the  stairs,  a  pitiful  little  wail  came  floating 
down: 

"  Oh,  Julien,  Julien,  tu  es  bien  longtemps  a'  venir. 
Helas  !  ne  te  reverrai-je  plus  ?  "' 

Madame,  waiting  below,  wondered  if  the  stranger 
wasn't  "  some  exiled  nobleman,  he  looks  so  distin- 
guished. Rather  seedy,  though." 

Soon  she  grew  impatient. 

"  "What  is  he  keeping  me  so  long  in  suspense  for, 
I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"When  he  came  down  at  last,  his  eyes  burned  like  hot 
coals,  and  he  had  for  her  questions  never  a  word  of 
answer.  He  walked  swiftly  away,  and  returned  with  a 
carriage  before  she  had  recovered  from  her  amazement. 
Still  speechless,  he  again  made  his  way  to  the  attic, 
and  when  he  descended  this  time  he  bore  something 
in  his  arms  very  tenderly. 

It  was  little  Julie,  wrapped  in  his  cloak. 

"  You  are  behaving  very  strangely,  sir !  What  are 
you  doing?  Where  are  you  taking  her  ?  " 

"  Where  she  will  be  cared  for,  rest  assured  ! ' 

*Thou  art  very  long  in  coming.  Alas  !  shall  I  never  see  thee 
more  ? 


JULffi,  ^TULIEN  AND  OXCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  11? 


"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  cried  madame,  following 
down  the  steps.  "  Do  you  dare  insinuate  that  she 
wouldn't  be  cared  for  here  ?  I  want  to  know  what 
right  you  have  to  be  meddling  with  that  child  ?  " 

"  The  best  right  in  the  world,  madame — a  brother's 
right."  To  the  coachman:  "Drive  on!"  and  the  car- 
riage rolled  away. 

A  passing  glimpse  of  a  tiny,  fever-flushed  face,  wild, 
unconscious,  restless  eyes,  and  lips  that  moved  contin- 
ually, was  the  last  madame  saw  of  the  "  delicate  little 
creature  "  she  had  "  adopted  "  for  a  nurse-girl. 

When  she  had  recovered  breath  and  collected  her 
scattered  wits,  she  put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and. 
went  clowrn  town  to  the  office. 

"  Dolf,  wrhat's  that  young  doctor's  name,  do  you 
enow?" 

"  Name  ?     Never  noticed,  'pon  my  word.     "Why  ?  " 

"It's  out  there  on  his  door,  or  somewhere,  isn't  it? 
Just  step  out  and  see,  please." 

"  Leblanc,"  said  "  Dolf,"  returning. 

"  Leblanc — Leblanc .  .  .  yes,  and  that's  the  child's 
name,  now  I  recall  it.  Do  you  know,  he's  her  brother !  " 

The  next  place  madame  visited  was  the  jeweler's. 
She  was  very  glad  she  had  not  purchased  the  watered 
silk  or  the  Brussels  carpet,  and  that  the  silver  service 
had  not  yet  been  sent  up  to  the  house. 


IIS  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Mr.  Forsyth,"  she  said,  laying  a  roll  of  bank-notes 
on  the  counter,  "  I  regret  our  little  transaction  yester- 
day. I  prefer  to  keep  the  cross  myself." 

"Well — a — hem! — a  bargain's  a  bargain,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about  '  bargains  '  !  we're  old 
acquaintances.  I  wrant  that  cross.  I  must  have  it." 

The  jeweler  colored,  and  coughed,  and  objected.  But 
madame  was  obstinate.  Finally,  as  they  were  "  old  ac- 
quaintances," and  as  madame's  husband  was  a  lawyer, 
and  as  he  hadn't  told  her  anywhere  near  the  full  value 
of  the  cross,  he  yielded — on  one  condition — that  it 
should  remain  a  few  days  longer  in  his  show-case.  It 
added  greatly  to  the  display  there,  especially  since  a 
card  had  been  attached  to  it,  reading  thus : 

ANTIQUE    CROSS, 

Formerly  owned  by  the 

EMPBESS     EUGENIE, 

Sold  by  her  in  her  flight  from  Paris,  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  journey. 

Madame  agreed  to  the  condition,  thinking  : 
"  If  Doctor  Leblanc  cares  anything  for  his  sister  he 
won't  be  gaping  at  jewelers'  windows  for  some  time  to 
come.  (Doubtful  if  she  recovers.  It's  some  fever  or 
other  she  must  have  caught  on  board  that  emigrant 
ship.  And  the  children  !  bless  me,  I  must  go  the  very 
next  thing  to  Doctor  Smith  and  see  if  he  thinks  there's- 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  119 

any  danger.)  And  then  if  he  shouldn't  happen  to  ask 
for  it,  or  make  any  fuss  about  it,  why,  I  can  wear  it 
myself,  and  everybody  in  town  will  suppose  it  has  once 
been  worn  by  Eugenie  !  " 

A  week  from  that  morning  little  Julie  came  back 
from  her  wanderings,  looked  up  into  the  face  bending 
over  her,  and  knew  it  for  the  first  time. 

"  C'est  lui !  "*  she  whispered,  smiling  faintly,  closed 
her  weary  eyes  and  fell  into  a  sweet  slumber. 

"Thank  God!  she  is  going  to  live." 

V. 

"What  art  thou  writing,  my  brother?"  asked  Julie 
from  among  her  pillows  one  day  ;  "  something  for  the 
journals  ?  " 

"  Oui,  cherie." 

"  Oh,  dear  Julien,  take  care  !  do  not  say  thdt  the 
Emperor  of  America  is  not  a  good  Emperor !  " 

"  Fear  not,  mon  enfant :  we  are  in  a  free  country 
where  one  says  what  one  pleases." 

Julien*  brought  a  basin  which  had  been  heating  on 
the  stove. 

"  Here  is  something  for  thee,  little  one." 

*It  is  he ! 


120  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Wilt  them  not  have  of  it  also,  brother  ?  Let  us 
dine  together.  I  never  see  thee  eat." 

"  The  beef  tea  is  not  for  strong  men  :  it  is  for  the 
little  invalids." 

"  Ah,  but  thou  art  not  strong !  I  remember  when 
thy  cheeks  were  like  the  rose.  .Now  thou  art  so  pale 
and  thin  !  and  I  saw  thy  hand  tremble  while  thou  wast 
writing.  Oh,  my  brother,  if  thou  shouldst  be  sick,  I 
fear  I  could  not  be  to  thee  the  good  angel  thou  art  to 
me.  Come,  take  of  this  a  little  :  it  is  excellent." 

"  I  have  already  dined,  cherie." 

"When?" 

"While  thou  wast  sleeping." 

"  I  bet  thy  dinner  was  not  so  good  as  mine !  n'est  ce 
pas?" 

No,  truly  it  was  not.  .  It  was  of  stale  bread,  as  wee  a 
morsel  as  ever  kept  body  and  soul  together.  But  the 
little  one  must  never  know. 

"  Tell  me,  Julie,  who  is  oncle  le  capitaine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  monsieur  charming  Avho  gave  me  a 
ride  in  his  ship.  He  promised  to  find  thee  for  me.  But 
who  hast  thou  heard  to  speak  of  him  ?  " 

"  A  little  fairy.     And  so  he  crave  thee  the  ride  ?  " 

•/ 

"  Yes,  Julien,  was  he  not  good  ?  He  would  not  take 
the  cross — thou  rememberest? — our  poor  mamma's 
beautiful  cross.  It  was  yesterday,  was  it  not,  that  I 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  121 

was  telling  tliee  how  she  gave  it  to  me?  Madame 
locked  it  in  the  drawer.  I  wonder  if  she  would  not  let 
thee  have  it  if  thou  wert  to  ask  her?  for  thou  art  a 
man,  and  thou  canst  speak  English,  and  she  will  com- 
prehend. Oh,  dear  Julien,  what  is  the  matter  ?  what 
have  I  said?  art  thou  angry  with  me?  " 

"  No,  not  with  thee,  my  poor  dear  little  angel !  but 
with  those  people  there — the  brutes  !  " 

"  Comment !  who  has  told  thee  of  them,  my  brother?  " 

"A  little  fairy." 

"  "Who  is  that  little  fairy  that  tells  thee  so  much  ? 
what  is  she  called  ?  " 

"She  is  called  Julie." 

"  Comment !  what  dost  thou  say  ?  I  am  she  !  But 
how  could  I  tell  thee,  since  thou  wilt  scarcely  allow  me 
to  speak  a  single  word,  dear  monsieur  le  docteur  ?  " 

"  My  poor  little  Julie  has  had  bad  dreams  and  talked 
in  her  sleep.  There,  now,  thou  art  weary.  Close  thy 
pretty  eyes  and  rest  thee.  Already,  I  fear,  I  have  let 
thee  talk  too  long." 

"  But  it  is  so  good  to  be  with  one  who  comprehends, 
and  can  speak  with  me  our  own  beautiful  language  !  " 

"  Poor  little  sister !  when  thou  art  stronger,  we  will 
do  nothing  but  talk  for  a  whole  day." 

While  the  child  lay  sleeping,  there  came  a  rap  at  the 
outer  door.  Julien  hoped  he  was  going  to  have  a  pa- 


122  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

tient.  But  no,  a  tall,  stout  gentleman  strode  into  the 
office.  His  face  was  ruddy,  his  eyes  twinkled  merrily. 
He  didn't  look  as  if  he  were  in  any  need  of  medicine. 

"  I  came  to  ask  after  the  little  Julie,"  he  said.  "  She 
came  over  in  my  ship,"  he  explained.  "  Possibly  she 
has  made  mention  of — " 

"  Ah !  is  it '  oncle  le  capitaine '  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  answered  the  gentleman,  smiling. 

"  Then  let  me  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my 
little  sister  !  "  cried  the  young  man,  grasping  his  hand. 
"  I  know  not  how  to  express  my  gratitude." 

"  Bah  !  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  the  next  room.  She  sleeps.  She  is  just  recov- 
ering from  a  fever — of  the  brain." 

"  Indeed !  Strange  that  woman  should  not  have 
spoken  of  it !  Has  she  been  very  sick?" 

"  It  has  been  a  struggle  for  life." 

"  Ah-h-h,  those  Lanes !  the  rascals  !  Why,  sir,  I  left 
the  child  in  charge  of  people  I  thought  I  could  trust — 
people  I  had  befriended.  Why,  that  man,  Lane,  was 
head  and  ears  in  debt !  but  for  me,  he  and  his  would 
be  in  want  and  misery  to-day  !  What  do  they  do,  the 
moment  I  am  out  of  sight,  but  send  her  to  an  orphan 
asylum  !  Sent  her  off !  off  West !  that  was  all  they 
could  tell  me  at  the  asylum.  Gone  West !  Nothing 
definite.  No  record,  no  trace.  I've  had  a  search,  I  can 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  123 

tell  you.  Hunted,  advertised,  from  place  to  place. 
Yesterday  I  came  here.  It  was  by  this  cross  I  found 
her.  I  saw  it  in  a  shop  window  and  identified  it  at 
once  with  one  little  Julie  had  shown  me  on  shipboard. 
You  recognize  it  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed.  It  is  an  heir-loom.  It  has  been 
handed  down  through  I  know  not  how  many  genera- 
tions." 

"  I  made  inquiries  in  the  shop,  and  was  directed  to 
a  lady  who  they  said  was  its  owner.  She  proved  to  be 
the  person  who  took  the  child  from  the  asylum.  She 
seemed  strangely  embarrassed  and  disinclined  to  speak 
about  the  matter." 

"  With  good  reason  !  mon  Dieu !  my  blood  boils  as  I 
think  of  it.  It  was  the  cruelty  and  overtask  that 
caused  my  little  one's  illness." 

"I  suspected  something  of  the  kind.  Listen  to  the 
condition  upon  which  that  person  acquainted  me  with 
your  whereabouts — that  I  '  shouldn't  mention  the  mat- 
ter to  any  one  in  town ! '  And  there's  something 
wrong  about  this  cross.  She  said  she  was  afraid  the 
child  might  lose  it,  and  so  had  put  it  under  lock  and 
key  for  safe  keeping,  and  had  afterwards  lent  it  to  the 
jeweler  as  a  curiosity.  But  he  was  wonderfully  inquis- 
itive, and  undertook  to  pump  me  when  I  went  back 
after  it.  What  do  3-011  think  he  had  labeled  it  ?  As  one 
of  the  jewels  of  your  ex-Empress  !" 


124  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  C'en  est  trop!*  these  Yankees  !  "  exclaimed  Julien  ; 
then  coloring  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  he  stammered  : 

"  Pardon,  monsieur !  " 

"  No  offense,"  said  the  captain,  smiling.  "  I  am,  then, 
so  genuine  a  Yankee  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  it,"  the  other  slowly  answered. 

The  captain  laughed  aloud. 

Julien  opened  the  inner  door. 

"  Didst  thou  call,  sister  ?  " 

"  Oui,  mon  frere.  Tell  me  who  is  with  thee  ?  But  I 
know  it — I !  It  is  oncle  le  capitaine  !  I  heard  him 
laugh  !  " 

"  Bonjour,  bonjour,  mademoiselle  1'Empress  !  how  is 
your  Majesty's  health  to-day  ? "  cried  a  voice  over 
Julien' s  shoulder.  "  See,  little  pale  one,  I  come  to 
bring  thee  thy  cross." 

"  Oh,  the  cross  of  mamma  !  the  cross  of  mamma !  " 
exclaimed  Julie,  seizing  it  and  covering  it  with  kisses, 
while  silent  tears  crept  down  her  wan  cheeks. 

Julien  turned  away  to  the  window,  and  the  captain 
sat  down  by  the  couch  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

"  But,  mon  oncle,"  said  Julie  after  awhile,  "  tell  me, 
did  you  have  a  good  voyage  ?  Did  the  great  waves 
come  and  tip  the  ship  right  over  on  its  side  and  almost 

-That's  too  mucli ! 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  125 

spill  you  out  ?  You  were  gone  so  long  I  feared  you 
were  drowned.  Oh,  mon  oncle,  do  not  go  away  again 
upon  the  terrible  sea ;  but  stay  with  us,  my  brother 
and  me." 

"Ah,  my  little  Julie,  thy  poor  old  uncle  is,  upon 
land,  like  a  fish  out  of  water." 

Julie  must  not  yet  hear,  the  captain  thought,  the 
story  of  that  great  gale  off  the  coast  of  the  Carolinas, 
in  which  his  good  ship  had  nearly  been  wrecked.  It 
would  better  suit  the  little  convalescent  to  be  told  of 
those  islands  where  he  had  been ;  those  sunny  islands 
where  it  is  always  summer,  where  oranges  and  bananas 
and  the  rarest  and  most  beautiful  flowers  grow  wild. 

While  the  two  were  talking,  Julien  once  more  took 
up  his  pen. 

"With  monsieur's  permission.  An  article  for  the 
Morning  Post.  It  must  be  ready  within  the  next  two 
hours." 

"  Ah  ! — a  treatise  on  health,  doubtless." 

"  A  treatise  on  Louis  Napoleon — ce  scelerat !  " 

"  My  friend,  take  the  advice  of  your  sister's  venera- 
ble uncle  ;  let  that  poor  wretch  alone.  He's  about 
played  out.  At  all  events,  you  are  out  of  his  reach. 
Stick  to  your  profession.  "Writing  is  fool's  business. 
'  A  jack  at  all  trades  is  good  at  none.'  " 

"  But  monsieur  knows  one  must  find  some  way  to  kill 
time." 


12G  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  All  ?  Pill-peddling  is  not  a  lively  business  nowa- 
days, I  take  it." 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  set  up  shop  in  three  cities,  and 
in  each  have  waited  three  months  for  a  patient." 

"  Whew !  is  that  so  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  be- 
fore?" 

"  Why  be  in  haste  to  tell  of  it,  monsieur  ?  It  is  noth- 
ing tD  boast  of,  surely !  " 

"Why?  Because  I  can  help  you.  I  am  going  to 
help  you.  I  intended  to  when  I  came  here,  if  I  found 
you  were  in  need  of  it." 

"  I  have  not  said  I  was  in  need.  I  ask  no  one  for 
help.  What  I  ask  for  is — work  !  " 

"  Young  man,  you  are  altogether  too  proud  !  You 
should  take  lessons  of  Young  America  !  Young  Amer- 
ica isn't  afraid  of  the  jingling  of  coin.  Young  America 
doesn't  spurn  a  good  offer.  Young  America  would 
jump  at  the  chance.  But  as  for  work,  why,  work  will 
come  to  you  if  you  only  wait  for  it  long  enough.  '  Pa- 
tient waiters  are  no  losers.'  " 

"  Wait,  wait,  wait !  mon  Dieu  !  and  the  child  there  !  " 

"  Yes,  we  must  think  of  her  !  Come,  my  dear  fellow, 
you've  had  a  hard  row  to  hoe.  No  use  denying  ! " 

Julien  was  silent  for  a  few  moments  ;  then  he  said  : 

"  I  will  confess,  monsieur,  that  I  have  seen  times 
when  I  have  wished  myself  well  back  in  France.  There, 
at  least,  one  could  fight  for  one's  country." 


JULIE,  JULIEN  AND  ONCLE  LE  CAPITAINE.  127 

"  Is  it  worth  fighting  for  ?  Poor  France  ! — a  republic, 
a  kingdom,  an  empire,  a  bedlam,  by  fits !  ruled  yesterday 
by  an  idiot,  to-day  by  a  lynx,  to-morrow  by  a  pack  of 
bloodhounds!  Better  off  where  you  are,  young  man; 
better  off  where  you  are." 

Julien  had  arisen,  and  stood  glaring  at  the  captain. 

"  Monsieur  forgets  he  is  speaking  of  the  land  of  my 
birth  1" 

"  And  of  the  land  of  his  birth,  as  well,"  was  the  quiet 
reply. 

"  Quoi  !  what  do  I  understand  monsieur  to  say  ?  " 

"  Have  you  never  heard  your  mother  speak  of  her 
brother  Jean  ? 

"  Often." 

"  I  am  he." 

"  But  no  !    He  entered  a  monastery.  He  was  a  monk." 

"  Still  again,  I  am  he.  At  your  age  I  grew  weary  of 
the  cloister.  Disguised  as  a  sailor  I  escaped  to  the 
United  States  ;  and  disguised  as  a  sailor  I  have  knocked 
about  the  world  ever  since.  My  own  country  is  the 
one  I  avoid  most  of  all,  I  suppose  I  never  should 
have  known  aught  of  Marguerite's  children  if  the 
little  Julie  had  not  corne  to  me  just  as  she  did.  In- 
deed, although  she  told  me  her  name,  I  never  sus- 
pected who  she  might  be  until  she  showed  me  her  poor 
mother's  cross.  In  the  cloister  one  is  buried  from  the 


128  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

world.  I  did  not  know  whom  my  sister  married.  He, 
too,  is  dead,  the  child  told  me.  I  mean  your  father.' 

"  General  Leblanc,  of  the  Italian  campaign — you  have 
never  heard  of  him  ?  It  was  there  that  he  lost  his  life." 

"  Poor  Marguerite  !  She  was  coming  to  you,  it  seems, 
and  fell  ill  upon  the  way." 

"  I  first  learned  it  from  Julie.  I  had  received  no 
tidings  for  months.  Our  home  was  in  the  region  which 
has  fallen  into  the  enemy's  clutches.  Mails,  of  course, 
were  stopped.  What  other  reason  for  the  silence? 
Mon  Dieu  !  the  agony  of  suspense  !  I  should  have  re- 
turned immediately  when  the  republic  was  declared, 
if  I  could  have  seen  my  way — ' 

"  And  you  two  might  have  sought  each  other  till 
your  locks  were  gray — and  probably  would  never  have 
met." 

"  Mon  oncle,  please  tell  to  me  also  those  strange,  sad 
things  you  have  been  telling  my  brother  now  for  a  long 
time  in  that  dreadful  English,  till  suddenly,  at  this  mo- 
ment, he  looks  frightened." 

Julien  went  over  to  the  little  questioner  and  kissed 
her  wondering  eyes. 

"  Thy  uncle,  sister — dear  angel ! — has  been  telling 
me  that  he  is  also  my  uncle." 


THE   VOICES. 


"  Come  now,  my  children,"  said  Dame  Nature  once, 
in  the  morning  of  the  world,  "  let  me  hear  your  voices, 
that  I  may  judge  which  of  all  is  the  most  musical." 

Up  from  the  dewy  grass  sprang  a  meadow-lark  with 
a  burst  of  melody  that  thrilled  the  listening  air ;  then 
loud,  and  sweet,  and  clear,  was  heard  the  warbling  of 
a  nightingale  ;  the  mountain  brook,  swinging  its  censer 
among  the  rocks,  began  to  chant — in  lower,  deeper 
tones  ;  meanwhile,  that  wanderer,  the  wind,  passing, with 
nimble  fingers  touched  the  keys  of  the  forest-organ,  and 
the  towering  pines  and  sturdy  oaks  and  yews  quivered 
and  throbbed  as  he  played  accompaniment ;  then  car- 
oled in  chorus  countless  millions  of  birds — even  the 
tiny  insects  took  to  humming  as  they  rioted  among 
the  golden  rays,  and  the  wild  beasts  and  every  living 
creature,  encouraged,  lifted  their  voices  in  trial ;  from 
the  cloud-mass,  above  the  far-off  horizon,  came  the 
thunder's  rumble  ;  the  river,  leaping  the  cliff,  roared  in 
rivalry ;  quick  followed  the  heavy  voices  of  the  great 

billows  as  they  came  surging  upon  the  beach.    Oh,  grand 

(129) 


130  STOKIES    AND    BALLADS. 

and  mighty  music  did  they  all  make  together  in  that 
glad  morning  of  the  world.  The  sunlit  heavens  leaned 
over,  breathless,  to  hear  it,  the  purple  valleys,  lifting, 
fondled  it  as  they  climbed,  the  speechless  hills  caught 
it  up,  and  in  envy  hurled  it  back  again,  note  by  note, 
till  the  whole  earth  was  wild  with  sound  and  deafening 
reverberation,  and  "Cease,  cease,  my  children!  "  Dame 
Nature  cried  aloud,  "  lest  I  render  you  voiceless,  every 
one,  and  there  be  no  more  music  forever." 

But  failing  to  make  herself  heard,  she  unrolled  the 
great  cloud  that  lay  coiled  above  the  horizon,  and 
drew  it  like  a  veil  across  the  sky.  Immediately  there 
was  silence — silence  unbroken  for  a  moment's  space, 
when  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! "  giggled  the  mountain  brook,  una- 
ble to  restrain  its  mirth  ;  "  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  repeated  a 
bright-winged  forest  bird ;  "  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  flew  swiftly 
back  from  the  hills. 

"  Hush,  irreverent  ones !  "  spake  Dame  Nature  in 
anger ;  "  listen,  while  I  pass  sentence  upon  you  !  Thou, 
mountain  brook,  who  hast  dared  to  break  silence  by 
thine  ill-timed  laughter,  laugh  on,  forever  -and  forever: 
thy  song  is  taken  from  thee,  and  thou  shalt  have  thy 
fill  of  merriment !  From  thee,  too,  bird  of  the  brilliant 
plumage,  is  taken  the  power  of  song  :  henceforth  thou 
shalt  find  voice  only  to  mimic  the  folly  of  others.  And 
you,  ye  hills,  will  I  fetter  and  bind,  that  ye  no  more  as- 
tonish tho  world  with  your  envious  wrath. 


THE    VOICES.  131 

"  As  for  you,  my  obedient  children,  ye  are  all  mu- 
sical, each  in  his  own  way ;  and  now  will  I  assign  to 
you  places  in  my  choir.  Thou,  wandering  wind,  shalt 
be  my  organist ;  and  ye  larks  and  nightingales,  who  are 
my  pride  and  joy,  and  all  ye  merry  little  birds,  the 
melody  is  yours  ;  and  ye  surging  billows,  and  mutter- 
ing clouds,  and  roaring  cataracts,  to  you  the  base  be- 
longs. 

"  Sing  on,  now,  my  children ;  sing  on,  and  practice 
well,  that  ye  may  know  your  parts  when,  by  and  by,  I 
call  upon  you  for  a  grand  and  glorious  anthem  that 
shall  fill  the  world  with  wonder." 

And  alway  since  then  they  have  been  diligently  prac- 
ticing, till  now,  when  Dame  Nature  calls  for  Te  Deum 
at  the  day-dawn,  or  for  a  vesper  hymn  at  eventide,  mar- 
velous is  the  melody  of  gleesome  and  gay-hearted  little 
birds  ;  marvelous  is  the  skill  of  the  musician  wind,  as 
he  sweeps  the  forest-organ's  answering  keys  ;  marvel- 
ous are  the  voices  of  cloud  and  cataract,  and  marvel- 
ous the  voices  of  the  sea. 

But  there  are  birds  of  rainbow-tinted  plumage,  won- 
derful to  behold,  whose  harsh,  discordant  tones  serve 
only  to  mock  and  mimic  ;  the  mountain  brook  wearies 
ofttimes  of  laughter,  querulous,  complains  to  the  rocks, 
grieving  for  its  lost  song ;  and  faint  and  rare  are  the 
echoes  heard  among  the  speechless  hills. 


MOONSHINE. 


Moonshine  crept  down,  one  clear,  unclouded  night, 
to  look  about  the  world  and  see  what  was  going  on. 
In  her  hand  she  carried  a  silver  lamp,  by  whose  white 
rays  all  objects  could  be  seen  as"  plainly  as  at  noon- 
tide ;  and  wherever  she  went,  the  shadows,  ashamed 
of  their  blackness,  stole  guiltily  away  and  tried  to  hide 
themselves.  Her  path  led  through  a  forest  and  down 
a  mountain  side,  where  wild  beasts  roamed  for  prey ; 
but  now  the  timid  deer  browsed  securely  among  the 
underbrush,  and  the  hungry  bear  trudged  supperless 
off  to  his  den,  the  stealthy  panther  kept  useless  watch 
from  the  branches  overhead,  the  rattlesnake  slid  back 
into  its  hole  and  left  the  tree-toads  chirping  cheerily, 
the  sly  fox  found  the  rabbits  too  wide  awake  for  him  ; 
for  was  not  Moonshine  abroad  with  her  silver  lamp, 
proclaiming  to  all  harmless  creatures :  Here  is  your 
enemy,  and  there  is  your  enemy  ? 

On  she  passed  till  she  came  to  a  pioneer's  log  cabin, 
standing  alone  in  the  wide  wilderness.  Listening,  she 

heard  the  sound  of  a  voice  singing  : 
(132) 


MOONSHINE.  133 

*x 

"Lullaby,  lullaby,  baby, 

Lullaby,  by,  by, 
While  all  the  little  stars  twinkle, 

Twinkle  up  in  the  sky. 

"Lullaby,  lullaby,  baby, 

Lullaby,  by,  by  ; 
Thy  father  has  gone  a  journey, 

And  there's  only  thou  anvd  I, 
To  rock,  rock,  to  and  fro, 
And  to  watch,  watch  for  the  savage  foe, 
To  sleep,  sleep, 
And  to  keep,  keep 

Watch  for  the  savage  foe, 
While  all  the  little  stars  twinkle, 

Twinkle  up  in  the  sky." 

"  Ah,"  said  Moonshine,  "the  mother  and  her  babe  are 
alone  and  unguarded  in  that  rude  dwelling.  Even  as 
she  sings  her  voice  trembles  with  fear.  I  will  set  my 
lamp  in  the  window  and  pause  awhile  to  keep  her  com- 
pany." 

Instantly  a  soft  radiance  flooded  the  room  within, 
and  the  mother,  looking  up,  beheld  the  gentle  face 
peeping  through  the  window.  "  Oh,  Moonshine,"  she 
cried,  with  tears  of  joy,  "  how  glad  am  I  that  you  have 
come  !  Stay  with  me  a  little,  for  I  am  lonesome  ;  and 
tell  me,  pray,  if  there  be  any  savages  lurking  about." 

Not  far  off  a  band  of  red  men,  their  faces  bedaubed 
with  paint,  and  their  hair  decked  out  with  plumes,  were 
gliding  noiselessly  through  the  dense  woods,  thinking 


134:  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

to  steal  upon  the  cabin  unawares  and  destroy  it  and  its 
inmates.  But  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  silver  lamp  upon 
the  window-sill,  they  turned  away,  saying:  "  Moon- 
shine is  there  !  She  would  give  warning  of  our  ap- 
proach." 

Moonshine,  seeing  that  the  dreaded  enemy  had 
turned  aside,  passed  on  and  left  the  mother  and  her 
child  sleeping  peacefully.  As  swift  she  glided  through 
valley  and  over  hill,  and  across  river  and  lake  and 
village-dotted  plain,  the  rays  of  her  glittering  lamp 
reached  far  and  wide  through  the  darkness,  making  the 
trees  and  gardens  and  rippling  corn-fields  glad,  point- 
ing the  shortest  route  to  a  weary  boatman,  revealing  to 
a  belated  traveler  the  robbers  who  stealthily  pursued, 
looking  in  upon  three  rosy  children  who  slumbered 
cosily  in  one  couch  together — stooping  to  kiss  their 
shining  curls  and  happy  faces,  and  to  whisper  some- 
thing pleasant  in  their  ears.  Nor  did  she  pause  when 
she  came  to  the  great  sea,  but  glided  on  over  the  foam- 
ing billows.  A  white-sailed  ship  the  winds  were  driv- 
ing towards  an  unknown  reef.  Quickly  she  set  her  sil- 
ver lamp  upon  the  perilous  rock.  Far  over  tho  angry 
waters  shone  the  beacon  light,  and  the  mariners,  seeing 
danger  ahead,  shifted  their  sails  and  changed  the  ^es- 
sel's  course. 

The  wanderer  reached,  at  length,  a  distant  coast,  und, 


MOONSHINE.  135 

holding  her  lamp  aioft,  passed  on  from  town  to  town. 
A  student  sat  at  midnight,  wakeful  among  his  books. 
Moonshine  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  closely- 
printed  page,  and  the  light  of  her  silver  lamp  so  put  to 
shame  his  miserable  taper  that  he  extinguished  it,  and 
began  to  write  some  verses  in  her  praise. 

At  last,  Moonshine  peered  down  into  a  deep,  dark 
dungeon,  and  saw  a  hapless  human  creature  bound  with 
chains.  Pale  and  wan  he  was,  from  long  years  of  im- 
prisonment. For  hours  she  remained  to  speak  to  him 
comforting  words. 

In  the  morning  the  pioneer  came  to  his  home  on  the 
mountain  side,  and  told  how  he  had  been  rescued  by 
Moonshine  from  highwaymen  who  pursued  him  as  he 
journeyed.  "  Ah,  bless  her,"  said  the  wife ;  "  for  she 
also  watched  over  us,  and  guarded  us  while  we  slept." 
The  three  rosy  children  awakened  smiling,  and  told 
one  another  their  dreams ;  they  had  all  dreamed  of  fairy- 
land. The  storm-tossed  ship  sailed  into  port,  and  the 
grateful  mariners  declared  that,  but  for  Moonshine, 
they  would  have  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  The 
student  went  about  with  such  a  beaming  countenance 
that  people  questioned,  "Was  he  moonstruck  ?  A  jail- 
er, descending  into  a  deep,  dark  dungeon,  found  the 
fettered  captive  lying  silent,  with  closed  eyes  ;  and  the 
sad  soul  that  had  gazed  out  of  those  eyes — who  had 
set  it  free  ?  Moonshine  ? 


aiJNSHINE. 


"  Voila,  Jeannette  !  voila  !  " 

The  little  old  woman  lifts  her  wrinkled  face  from  the 
lace-work  over  which  she  is  bending  and  looks  where 
the  slender  hand  just  pointed.  How  did  it  come  there, 
that  sunbeam  ?  So  the  two  question  ;  for  never,  in  all 
the  time  they  have  occupied  the  low,  dim  room,  with  its 
one  window,  has  a  sunbeam  shone  into  it,  warm  and 
cheery,  like  that.  Possibly  some  recent  alteration  in 
the  high  buildings  without  has  made  way  for  the  wel- 
come visitor,  now  that  the  sun  has  moved  farther 
around  to  the  north.  However  it  came  there,  there  it 
is,  the  mellow  ray,  deepening  in  color  as  the  sun  sinks 
lower  down,  changing  from  yellow  to  orange,  from 
orange  to  rose.  The  couch  must  be  moved  nearer,  so 
that  the  thin  hand  may  press  the  wall  and  feel  the  warm 
light  as  it  rests  there  ;  then  a  smile  wreathes  the  wan, 
weary  young  face,  and  its  owner  goes  off  dreaming — 
dreaming  with  eyes  wide  open. 

Somebody  knocks  at  the  door.     "  Coom,"  calls  Jean- 
nette.    A  lad  of  twelve  lifts  the  latch  and  enters. 
(136) 


SUNSHINE.  137 

"  Is  this  the  place  where  they  mend  lace,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Yes.     C'est  mot." 

"  Well,  they  sent  a  lot  in  this  bundle.  They  said 
they  wanted  it  done  right  away,  if  you  could.  It's  a 
curtain.  The  kitten  tore  it,  I  guess.  He's  always 
scampering  up  the  curtains." 

"Yes."  (Yes  is  one  of  the  few  English  words  Jean- 
nette  is  quite  sure  about,  so  she  seldom  adds  to  it  in 
her  replies,  when  she  can  avoid  doing  so.) 

"  When  shall  I  come  after  it  ?  " 

"  Maunday — nsxt — week,"  Jeannette  slowly  answers, 
and  takes  the  package  the  lad  has  brought. 

His  errand  is  done  ;  why  does  he  linger  ?  Have  the 
brown  eyes,  in  a  rapid  glance  or  two,  taken  in  more 
than  they  would  if  they  were  not  so  big  and  generous  ? 
The  low  ceiling  with  the  laths  bared  of  plaster  here  and 
there,  the  scant  furniture,  the  tumble-down  stove,  the 
uneven,  uncarpeted  floor,  the  plants  in  the  window — 
sickly  for  lack  of  light — the  withered  little  lace-mender 
shivering  in  her  shawl  for  lack  of  fire,  the  \)py  on  the 
couch  yonder,  clutching  at  a  sunbeam,  gazing  dreamily 
into  space  ;  he  has  seen  all ;  he  has  heard  the  hollow 
cough,  he  winks  hard  to  keep  from  taking  the  decided 
shape  of  tears  something  that  for  an  instant  dims  his 
bonny  eyes. 

"  Has  he  been  sick  a  good  while  ?  "  he  whispers. 


138  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Yes,"  says  Jeannette,  and  calls,  "  Ernest !  " 

Ernest  comes  out  of  Iris  dream.  The  great  dark,  sor- 
rowful eyes  meet  the  great  bright,  generous  ones.  In 
a  twinkling  young  America,  with  lusty  health  and 
blooming  cheeks,  is  at  the  bedside  of — young  France, 
shall  we  say  ? 

An  hour  after  Ned  hastens  home  to  his  sister  with 
the  story  he  has  just  heard. 

"Belle,"  he  cries,  as  he  bursts  into  the  parlor,  ''you 
know  where  you  sent  me  this  afternoon — to  that  French 
woman's  ?  "Well,  they're  poor  as  can  be.  And  he's 
sick,  too.  And  no  doctor,  no  medicine,  no  nothing! 
"Wish  I  was  as  rich  as  Crossus !  " 

"He?     Who's  he?" 

"Why,  Ernest.  His  father  was  an  artist,  you  see; 
and  they  came  to  this  country,  and  his  pictures 
wouldn't  sell,  and  he  couldn't  get  work,  and  he  got  dis- 
couraged and  drowned  himself.  Then,  after  awhile,  his 
mother  died,  and  Jeannette — she's  a  servant  who  came 
with  them* — she  stays  with  him  and  takes  care  of  him. 
He's  got  the  consumption  and  coughs  awfully.  /  know 
what's  done  it !  Starving !  and  freezing !  Guess  what 
he  was  doing  !  Warming  his  hands  in  the  sunshine !  " 

"Well,  did  she  say  when  she  — ould  have  the  win- 
dow curtain  finished  ?  " 

Where  shall  one  go  for  sympathy  and  help  ?     There 


SUNSHINE.  139 

is  no  mother.  The  father  is  a  hundred  miles  away,  en- 
gaged as  counsel  in  the  settlement  of  a  disputed  estate 
(if  anybody  knows  what  all  that  means).  The  live-long 
night  Ned  lies  awake,  thinking  the  matter  over  some- 
thing after  this  fashion  : 

"  There's  that  house — corner  of  South  and  High 
Street.  'Booms  to  let — noticed  the  advertisement  to-day. 
Nice  rooms.  Plenty  of  light.  Just  the  place  !  .  .  . 
Wish  I  was  rich  as  Croesus !  .  .  .  What  did  I  want  to 
go  and  throw  away  my  last  allowance  that  way  for  ? 
Haven't  got  a  red  cent  left !  Don't  know  where  it's  all 
gone  to,  now  !  Got  a  lot  of  trinkets  that  aren't  of  much 
use  to  me,  anyhow.  Cut  my  thumb  half  off  with  my 
jack-knife  first  time  I  used  it ;  broke  all  the  strings  to 
my  violin  before  I'd  had  it  a  week ;  and  made  myself 
about  sick  trying  to  smoke  cigars.  .  .  .  Wish  I  was 
rich  as  Croesus  !  " 

When,  next  morning,  Ned  meets  on  the  street  his 
elderly  friend,  the  physician,  who  helped  him  comfort- 
ably through  with  the  measles,  mumps  and  whooping 
cough,  and  is  greeted  with,  "  Why,  young  man, 
there's  a  cloud  on  your  face — what's  the  trouble  ?  "  he 
answers,  "  Come  and  see,"  and  leads  to  a  dismal  quar- 
ter of  the  town,  and  from  one  story  to  another  of  a 
dismal  tenement,  till  they  reach  the  chamber  where 
Ernest  lies.  When  they  are  down  in  the  street  o.~aii?, 
Ned  takes  up  the  old  refrain — 


140  STOKTES   AND    BALLADS. 

"  Wish  I  was  rich  as  Croesus.  We'd  get  him  out  of 
there  and  cure  him  up,  wouldn't  we  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  if  we  had  the  wealth  of  twenty  Croe- 
suses it's  too  late  to  help  him  now.  The  best  we  can  do 
is  to  make  him  as  comfortable  as  possible  where  he  is. 
Come  round  to  the  office  with  me,  and  I'll  give  you 
something  to  ease  the  cough  a  little." 

When  the  medicine  is  ready  Ned  rises  to  go,  but 
hesitates. 

"  There  wasn't  any  fire  there,  Doctor.  I've  used  up 
all  my  last  allowance,  and  father's  away  from  home. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

The  Doctor  writes  down  some  names  and  addresses 
on  a  slip  of  paper. 

"  There.  You  go  to  these  gentlemen,  state  the  case, 
and  we'll  see  what  they'll  do  for  you.  .  .  I  might  give 
you  a  recommend.  .  .  But  no.  We'll  try  without, 
first.  I  fancy  that  honsst  face  of  yours  will  open  the 
pocket-books  quicker  than  any  note  from  me." 

And  Ned  sets  out  on  his  first  begging  expedition,, 
which  proves  so  successful  that  in  a  few  hours  the 
tumble-down  stove  retires  ignominiously  to  make  place 
for  a  shining  new  one,  in  which  the  fire  need  not  go  out 
while  cold  weather  lasts ;  and  the  evening  shadows, 
creeping  back  to  their  fa-vrorite  haunt,  the  attic,  <ire 
amazed  and  panic-strickeni  to  find  it  occupied  by  a  rosy/ 


SUNSHINE.  141 

troop  of  hilarious  elfs,  dancing  up  and  down  the  wall, 
with  whom  they  must  battle  for  possession. 

Moreover,  Ned  has  enlisted  the  sympathies  of  another 
of  his  particular  friends,  Bridget,  the  cook,  who  fails 
not  to  prepare,  daily,  delicacies  for  him  to  carry  to  the 
sick  boy — glad  of  an  errand  thither,  for  this  new  ac- 
quaintance is  extremely  interesting,  not  in  the  least 
like  any  one  Ned  has  ever  met  before,  so  young  and 
yet  so  accomplished.  Why,  he  can  give  a  hundred 
hints  about  playing  on  that  precious  violin,  he  can 
show  sheets  of  music  of  his  own  composing,  a  port- 
folio full  of  sketches,  his  own  work,  in  pencil  and  crayon 
and  oil ;  and,  oh  !  to  hear  him  talk  of  wonderful  Paris, 
and  of  famous  people  whom  he  has  seen  and  whom 
his  father  has  known. 

Perhaps  a  month  has  passed,  when,  upon  an  after- 
noon, Ned,  bounding  in  all  aglow  from  the  frosty  air 
without,  stops  short,  seeing  the  pallid  face  is  not  lifted 
in  eager  greeting  from  among  the  cushions. 

"  Is  he  asleep  ?  "  he  whispers. 

"  Yes,"  sobs  Jeanette. 

By  and  by  as  the  lad  turns  slowly  away,  she  places 
in  his  hands  the  portfolio,  saying  ; 
"  He  tells  me  eet  ees  for  you." 

####### 


142  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Belle,  noticing  her  brother  as  he  enters  the  house 
and  hurries  through  the  hall  on  his  way  to  his  room, 
exclaims : 

"  Why,  Ned,  you've  beer*  crying !  What's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Ernest  is  dead !  " 

"Who  is  Ernest?"  inquires  the  father,  late*ly  re- 
turned, glancing  up  from  his  newspaper. 

When  he  has  heard  Ned's  story  he  asks  to  see  the 
sketches.  While  he  is  examining  them,  Belle  comes 
and  looks  over  his  shoulder.  Suddenly  she  utters  a 
little  scream. 

"  Why,  Ned,  you  darling !  look  here  !  " 

They  have  found,  among  the  rest,  a  picture  which 
Ned  has  not  seen  before.  It  brings  tears  to  his  eyes 
again,  to  Belle's,  too ;  the  grim  old  lawyer's  lips  twitch 
for  a  moment,  and  he  goes  off  and  has  the  painting 
framed  in  most  costly  style,  and  hangs  it  above  the 
mantel  in  his  study.  Perhaps  it  may  serve  as  reminder 
of  a  bit  of  a  sentence,  spoken  centuries  ago,  which 
fortune-favored  people,  snuggling  about  the  ingleside 
on  boisterous  winter  nights,  are  very  apt  to  forget : 
"  The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you." 

You  may  imagine  the  faithful  Jeannette  is  not  neg- 
lected. The  sunniest  spot  in  the  cemetery  is  where  a 
marble  cross  tells  you  that  Ernest  is  sleeping  below. 


SUNSHINE.  143 

And  the  picture,  what  is  it  ?  It  is  a  glimpse,  in  brown 
and  amber  tints,  of  a  wretched  attic  chamber  with 
dilapidated  ceiling,  and  scant,  worn-out  furniture,  and 
bare,  uneven  floor.  And  the  only  light  there  comes 
from  the  face  peeping  in  through  a  door  which  stands 
ajar — a  boyish  face,  round  and  merry,  with  ruddy 
cheeks,  and  big,  heartful  eyes,  and  brown  bits  of  curls 
clustering  about  the  broad  forehead — a  frank,  ojpen, 
cheery,  winsome  face.  Now,  away  from  the  light  which 
streams  from  this  face  and  into  the  sombre  shadows, 
frightened  demons  are  turning  to  flee.  And  one  of  the 
demons  whose  gloomy  features  are.  partly  visible,  and 
whose  hand  grasps  a  dagger,  you  may  guess  was  meant 
for  Despair.  This  picture  has  a  name.  Ernest  painted 
it  underneath,  in  large  letters  of  scarlet  and  gold.  This 
is  the  name — SUNSHINE. 


CZAR   AND    CARPENTER. 


"  Dear  Rudolph,  art  thou  not  well  ? "  asks  his 
mother,  in  that  native  language  which  she  loves.  "  For 
some  time  past  thou  hast  been  so  very  quiet,  and —  '5 
there  she  pauses,  not  wanting  to  remind  him  of  how 
fretful  and  ill-natured  he  has  been  of  late. 

"  Feel  well  enough  !  "  he  answers  gruffly,  and  then  is 
sorry,  and  wishes  he  had  gone  to  rest  ten  minutes  ago, 
as  he  thought  of  doing. 

A  tiny  cloud  of  displeasure  flits  across  the  sweet, 
gentle  face,  and  little  Karl,  leaning  against  his  mother's 
chair,  twines  an  arm  about  her  neck,  and  smooths  her 
sunny  hair,  as  if  to  make  amends.  As  for  Rudolph's 
father,  stern  words  spring  to  his  lips  ;  but  suspecting 
what  is  the  trouble,  he  withholds  them,  only  glancing 
up  from  his  book  with  eyes  so  full  of  unutterable  sad- 
ness that  the  boy  creeps  guiltily  out  of  the  room,  and 
off  to*  his  chamber  above. 

This  is  the  trouble  with  Rudolph — he  is  haunted ; 
haunted  by  a  demon  whose  name  is  Discontent.  It  first 
appeared  to  him  one  evening  in  a  certain  elegant  rnan- 
CU4) 


CZAR    AND    CARPENTER.  145 

sion  on  a  certain  fashionable  avenue,  whither  he  had 
been  sent  with  a  .message ;  for  his  father  was  to  do 
some  repairing  there.  In  the  spacious,  high-ceiled, 
oak-paneled  library,  where  he  waited  to  see  the  master 
of  the  house,  this  little  demon  stole  up  to  him  and 
whispered : 

"  Look  at  it — at  all  this  splendor  !  these  tall  mirrors, 
and  huge  chandeliers,  and  rich  paintings,  and  carved 
cases  of  books  !  You  never  saw  the  like,  did  you  ?  " 

It  followed  him  through  the  great  hall  with  its 
marble  floor  and  high,  arched  entrance,  followed  him 
down  the  wide  steps  and  out  into  the  street,  whisper- 
ing all  the  while,  pointing  back  at  the  smooth  front  of 
stone  and  the  plate-glass  windows ;  then,  when  they 
reached  Rudolph's  home,  pointing  scornfully  at  the 
humble  cottage,  and  the  entrance  that  is  neither  high 
nor  arched.  It  followed  him  in,  this  demon,  into  the 
single  apartment  that  is  hall  and  library  and  kitchen 
combined.  It  sat  down  beside  him  in  the  corner. 
"  Bah  !  "  it  muttered  in  disdain,  "  this  lounge  can't 
compare  with  that  sofa  where  you  rested  just  now. 
But  wasn't  it  soft,  though !  "  It  called  his  attention  to 
all  the  objects  around,  sneering  at  the  eurtains  because 
they  are  not  of  damask,  at  the  floor  because  it  is  un- 
carpeted,  at  the  wall-paper  because  it  is  cheap.  It 
noticed  Rudolph's  mother  laying  the  table,  and  asked, 


146  STOKJES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  ladies  who  live  in  fine  houses 
ever  get  supper  themselves  ?  Bah !  don't  you  believe 
it !  "  It  noticed  Rudolph's  father  leaning  back  in  his 
arm-chair  with  closed  eyes,  weary  after  the  day's  labor, 
and  queried,  "  Do  you  suppose  that  gentleman  you  saw 
to-night  ever  gets  tired,  ever  works  ?  No,  of  course  he 
doesn't.  Pie  never  wears  work-clothes,  shabby  and  worn 
like  that !  He  always  goes  dressed  in  broadcloth,  and 
his  purse  is  always  full,  and  he  carries  himself  like  a 
prince,  and  asks  no  odds  of  anybody.  And  did  you  mind 
how  he  looked  down  at  you,  as  if  you  were  nothing 
but  a  worm? — because  your  father's  only  a  carpenter  ! 
Wonder  if  he'll  treat  him  so  ?  Bah  !  isn't  it  wretched  to 
be  poor  and  to  have  to  work  !  "  And  when  Rudolph 
took  his  place  at  the  table,  it  was — "  Bah !  do  you 
think  gentlemen  ever  eat  anything  so  common  as  this  ?" 
and  he  pushed  from  him  the  simple  food,  untasted,  and 
went  back  to  his  corner  ;  and  there  he  sat  the  whole 
evening,  and  there  he  has  spent  every  evening  since, 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  the  demon  whispering  in 
his  ear.  For  it  has  never  left  him  ;  no,  not  for  a  mo- 
ment. It  has- followed  him  everywhere.  In  school,  day 
after  day  it  kept  up  a  continual  buzzing,  hindering  him 
from  getting  his  lessons — he,  the  one  who  had  always 
known  them  so  well.  It  would  compare  his  own  gar- 
ments with  those  of  one  and  another  better  clad  than 


CZAK    AND    CARPENTER.  147 

he.  "  And  there's  Jesse  James — see,  he  carries  a  gold 
watch !"  "  And  isn't  it  mean  for  'em  to  call  you  a 
'  Dutchman !  '  just  because  your  father  and  mother 
came  from  Germany — though  you  never  lived  there  in 
your  life — and  because  you're  poor  and  only  a  carpen- 
ter's son.  Pity  your  father  couldn't  have  been  a  count, 
or  a  baron,  or  something  like  that !  How  everybody 
would  have  stared  when  he  rode  along  in  his  glittering 
carriage,  and  how  everybody  would  have  wanted  to  be 
friends,  and  would  have  asked  him  to  dinner,  and  all 
that !  And  how  polite  everybody  would  have  been  to 
you  I  You  wouldn't  have  been  a  '  Dutchman  '  then ; 
oh,  not  at  all !  And  if  he  had  been  a  grand-duke,  oh, 
think  of  it !  How  everybody  would  have  gone  down  to 
the  depot  to  meet  him,  and  how  people  would  have 
crowded  around  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  what  a 
fuss  they  would  have  made  over  him — as  they  did  one 
winter  when  Alexis  was  here,  you  know,  and  you 
climbed  up  a  lamp-post  to  get  a  glimpse  of  him. 
"Wasn't  he  splendid,  though  !  How  grand  it  must  be 
to  be  the  son  of  a  Czar !  " 

But  during  the  Christmas  holidays,  now  almost  over, 
there  has  been  no  school,  and  Rudolph  has  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  the  marketing,  and  keeping  the  walk  be- 
fore the  house  clear  of  snow,  and  running  here  and 
there  about  the  city  on  errands  for  his  father — who 


148  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

never  has  any  vacation,  the  year  round.  And  all  these 
days,  oh,  how  that  demon  has  tantalized  him  !  It  would 
lead  him  through  the  market  to  where  lay  great  heaps 
of  .turkeys  and  geese  and  ducks,  so  plump  and  tempt- 
ing, ready  for  the  oven.  "  But  you  can't  buy  any,  they 
cost  too  much !  "  It  would  draw  him  close  up  to  the 
bakery  windows.  "  Wouldn't  Karl  like  one  of  those  de- 
licious cakes,  though  !  But  you  can't  buy  it,  it  costs  too 
much.  Isn't  it  too  bad  to  have  to  count  the  pennies 
so  ?  "  All  the  way  down  the  street,  of  pleasant  after- 
noons, it  would  keep  tormenting,  pointing  now  at  the 
richly-dressed  ladies  out  shopping  :  "  Pity  your  mother 
can't  have  velvets,  and  feathers,  and  furs,  like  that,  and 
be  fashionable  ! "  now  exclaiming :  "  Look !  there  goes 
Jesse  James.  He's  taking  his  sister  out  for  a  sleigh- 
ride.  Aren't  those  horses  just  splendid !  and  that  robe, 
look  at  it !  it's  a  real  tiger's  skin !  and  the  bells,  oh,  how 
they  jingle !  By  the  way,  did  you  hear  him  telling  one 
of  the  schoolboys,  last  week,  about  the  Christmas  pres- 
ent he  was  going  to  give  his  cousin  Florence  ? — a  set  of 
diamonds  !  think  of  it !  Here  are  some,  right  here  in 
this  shop-window.  Look  at  them  !  see  how  they  shine  ! 
....  Pity  you  can't  make  somebody  a  Christmas 
present! — your  cousin  M  in  a,  for  instance.  Pity  you 
can't  take  somebody  out  sleigh-riding.  Never  had  a 
sleigh-ride  yourself,  for  that  matter.  Never  had  a 


CZAE    AND    CARPENTER.  14!) 

ride  any  way,  except  in  a  street-car.  Never  had  a  sin- 
gle chance  to  drive  a  horse,  even.  ....  What's  the 
reason  some  can  have  everything  they  want,  and  others 
— oh  !  don't  it  make  you  mad  the  way  things  go  on  in 
'this  world?" 

Yes,  it  does  make  him  "  mad."  He  goes  about  glum 
and  scowling.  (He  used  to  be  pleasant  enough.)  The 
ripple  of  his  laughter  is  no  longer  heard,  and  he  frolics 
no  more  with  little  Karl,  who  hardly  dares  approach 
him,  he  is  so  cross.  And  thus  it  is  that  his  mother  is 
led  to  question  if  he  is  not  well,  and  thus  it  is  that  his 
father  comes  to  suspect  what  is  the  trouble,  and  to 
guess  the  name  of  the  demon  that  has  crept  in  to  dis- 
turb their  peaceful  home,  and  to  vex  the  bright,  ambi- 
tious boy  he  is  so  proud  of.  The  book  he  is  reading 
has  lost  its  interest,  for  hours  he  scarcely  turns  a  page  ; 
and  it  is  a  great  relief  to  lay  it  aside  when  the  consol- 
ing little  Karl,  feeling  that  something  is  amiss,  climbs 
sleepily  into  his  arms  and  lays  a  velvety  cheek  against 
his  own. 

Meanwhile,  there  is  that  wicked  demon  up-stairs 
upon  the  pillow,  never  ceasing  its  poisonous  whisper- 
ing, till  Kudolph,  unable  to  shake  off  the  tormentor,  at 
last  gives  way  to  sobs  and  tears,  thankful  that  he  is 
alone  and  in  the  dark,  for  he  wouldn't  have  so  much  as 
a  ray  of  daylight  catch  him  crying. ' 


150  BTOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Oil,  Rudolph,  is  there  no  one  to  come  to  you  here  and 
drive  away  that  demon,  by  telling  you  of  all  the  mighty 
ones  who  have  risen  from  humbler  stations  than  yours — 
aye,  climbed,  round  by  round,  up  the  ladder  of  fortune 
till  they  reached  the  top,  admired  and  applauded  by  the 
crowds  below — will  no  one  comfort  you  by  telling  you 
of  these  ? 

Wait;  here  comes  some  one  into  the  room,  comes 
close  to  the  bedside — a  stranger.  Perhaps  he  has  come 
for  that.  .  .  But  no  ;  listen  to  what  he  says  : 

"  Arise,  Rudolph,  and  accompany  me  to  the  palace  of 
the  Czar." 

The  lad  stares  in  amazement  at  the  speaker — a  tall, 
gaunt  personage,  wrapped  in  a  black  mantle  that  almost 
touches  the  floor,  and  so  conceals  the  head  and  face 
with  its  ample  folds  that  only  the  eyes  are  visible. 
What  black,  piercing  eyes  !  — blacker  than  the  mantle. 
Rudolph  stares,  and  then  arises,  obedient. 

'  The  two  travelers  are  not  long  in  reaching  their  desti- 
nation, and  Rudolph  soon  finds  himself  in  the  imperial 
palace,  in  a  great  saloon,  magnificent  beyond  compari- 
son with  that  oak-paneled  library  he  saw  some  time 
ago.  There  is  dancing  here,  and  the  glittering  dresses 
of  the  dancers  dazzle  him,  and  the  music  is  so  delight- 
ful it  drives  him  nearly  wild.  When  finally  he  lifts  his 
dizzy  eyes  from  the  whirling  throng,  he  sees,  sitting 


CZAK    AND    CARPENTER  151 

in  state  at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  one  who  he 
concludes  is  the  Czar ;  for  all  who  approach  him  bow 
low  and  speak  to  him  reverently. 

"  Would  Rudolph  like  to  be  Czar  ?  "  asks  the  person- 
age in  black. 

"  A-a-ah !"  exclaims  the  other,  smiling  and  clasping 
his  hands. 

"  Then  bide  your  time." 

They  wait  behind  a  heavy  curtain  till  the  music 
ceases,  and  the  dancers  are  gone,  and  the  lights  are  ex- 
tinguished, and  the  long  saloon  is  dark  and  empty. 
Then  the  muffled  stranger  leads  through  a  maze  of  gal- 
leries and  corridors,  unlocks,  at  length,  a  door,  bids 
Rudolph  enter,  and  Rudolph  obeys.  This  apartment, 
also,  is  magnificent,  but  not  so  large  as  the  other.  At 
one  side  is  a  downy  couch  with  golden-fringed  drapery, 
and  there  the  great  Czar  reposes.  Upon  the  wall,  near, 
hangs  a  sword. 

o 

"  Take  it  down,"  commands  the  personage  in  black ; 
and  Eudolph  takes  it  down. 

"  Raise  it,"  is  the  second  command,  as  they  stand 
over  the  sleeping  Czar ;  and  Rudolph  raises  on  high 
the  gleaming  sword. 

"  Strike  ! "    And  Rudolph  strikes. 

"  Now  return  it  to  its  place  and  follow  me."  And 
Rudolph  returns  the  weapon,  dripping,  to  its  place 


152  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

upon  the,  wall,  and  follows  back  through  the  long  gal- 
leries and  corridors,  and  down  the  marble  stairs,  and 
out  and  away  from  the  palace,  and  out  and  away  from 
the  city — away  to  a  cave  in  the  mountains.  And  the 
personage  in  black  again  commands,  "  Stay  here  and 
bide  your  time." 

Day  after  day  there  come  to  them,  in  their  hiding- 
place,  rumors,  now  of  the  murder  of  the  Czar,  now  of 
strife  and  difference  among  his  subjects  over  who  shall 
be  successor,  and,  finally,  of  an  invasion  by  the  neigh- 
boring monarchs,  who,  seeing  the  people  at  war  among 
themselves,  would  profit  by  this  opportunity  to  gain 
possession  of  the  Empire. 

"Now  is  your  time  !  "  says  the  personage  in  black 
to  Rudolph,  and  he  leads  him  into  the  rn^lst  of  the 
battles,  and  teaches  him  so  well  the  art  of  warfare,  that 
from,  the  ranks  he  soon  rises  to  be  Field-Marshal. 
Then,  the  personage  in  black  always  secretly  counsel- 
ing, Rudolph  (always  blindly  obedient,  he  knows  not 
why),  following  closely  his  instructions,  defeats  the  in- 
vading armies  in  every  battle,  drives  them  out  of  the 
Empire,  pursues  them  into  their  own  provinces,  and 
returns  triumphant ;  and  the  people  greet  him  with 
loud  rejoicing,  and  lead  him  to  the  great  throne-room,, 
and  robe  him  in  the  ermine-lined  robe,  and  crown  him 
with  the  jeweled  crown,  and  shout  till  the  echoes  ring 


CZAR   AND    CARPENTER.  133 

— "  Hail,  Rudolph,  the  Czar  !  "  and,  "  Long  live  Ru- 
dolph, the  Czar ! " 

And  again  there  are  music  and  dancing ;  and  it  is 
Rudolph,  now,  who  is  seated  in  state  above  the  glitter- 
ing throng,  and  all  who  approach  him  bow  low  and 
address  him  reverently — excepting  one — a  tall,  gaunt 
personage,  with  muffled  face,  and  piercing  eyes,  and 
long,  black  mantle,  who  steals  up  behind  him  and 
whispers,  "  Does  Rudolph  enjoy  being  Czar  ?  "  And 
Rudolph,  remembering  all,  neither  clasps  his  hands 
nor  smiles. 

At  midnight,  as  Rudolph  lies  upon  the  downy  couch 
•with  its  silken  folds  and  golden-fringed  drapery,  sud- 
de"nly  waking  from  slumber,  he  sees  one  standing  over 
him  with  lifted  sword;  and  he  springs  upon  the 
assassin,  and  seizes  his  sword,  and  calls  to  the  attend- 
ants, and  has  him  put  in  irons ;  and  this  man  makes 
confession,  and  reveals  to  the  Czar  a  plot  among  the 
nobles  against  his  life  ;  then  Rudolph  causes  some  of 
those  conspirators  to  be  thrown  into  prison,  and  some 
to  be  beheaded ;  and,  for  further  safety,  the  guard  in 
the  palace  is  increased.  But  not  long  after,  again  sud- 
denly waking  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he  sees 
another  standing  over  him  with  lifted  sword ;  and  he 
springs  upon  this  one  also,  and  seizes  his  sword,  and 
calls  to  the  attendants,  and  has  him  bound  with  irons  ; 


154  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

and  behold,  when  the  lights  are  brought,  this  man  is 
found  to  be  one  of  the  palace  guard ;  and  he,  too, 
makes  confession,  and  reveals  to  the  Czar  that  all  in 
the  army  are  his  foes  and  ready  to  take  his  life  ;  then 
Rudolph  sends  out  and  causes  some  of  the  Generals 
and  chief  conspirators  of  the  army  to  be  imprisoned, 
and  others  to  be  beheaded ;  and,  for  further  safety,  he 
places  his  most  faithful  and  trusty  servant  to  watch  in 
his  chamber  while  he  sleeps.  But  a  third  time,  sud- 
denly waking  at  midnight,  he  sees  this  servant  stand- 
ing over  him  with  lifted  sword  ;  and  him,  too,  he  over- 
powers, and  seizes  the  murderous  weapon ;  and  this 
man,  also,  confesses  ;  and  from  him  the  Czar  learns 
that  all  in  the  palace  hate  him  and  have  plotted  to  take 
his  life. 

So  it  comes  to  pass  that  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  dares  not 
close  his  eyes  day  or  night,  for  there  is  no  one  whom 
he  can  trust  to  protect  him  while  he  slumbers.  And 
as  the  weeks  and  months  wear  away,  he  grows  so  hag- 
gard with  watching,  so  weary  for  lack  of  sleep,  that 
one  morning,  ere  the  sun  has  risen,  and  while  all  is 
hushed  and  silent,  he  casts  aside  the  robe  of  ermine, 
and  the  golden  crown  and  sceptre,  and  steals  away 
from  the  palace,  and  out  through  the  palace  garden,  and 
off  to  the  fields  beyond ;  and  there,  feeling  secure,  he 
lies  down  and  closes  his  eyes,  and  is  just  falling  into  a 


CZAR   AND    CARPENTER.  155 

delicious  slumber,  when  the  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps 
arouses  him,  and  looking  up,  behold  one  standing  over 
him  with  lifted  sword ;  and  he  springs  up  to  defend 
himself,  but  the  other  turns  and  flees.  Then  he  goes 
on  till  he  reaches  a  wide  forest,  and  thinking,  "  Surely 
no  one  will  molest  me  here,"  he  lies  down  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and  is  just  losing  himself  in  sleep,  when  the 
howling  of  wolves  disturbs  him,  and  he  is  obliged  to 
hurry  onward,  to  escape  being  torn  in  pieces  by  those 
ferocious  beasts. 

When  he  reaches  the  plain  at  the  other  side  of  the 
forest,  he  perceives,  at  some  distance,  a  group  of  huts, 
and  saying,  "  Surely  no  one  will  know  me  there,"  he 
approaches  them  and  asks  for  lodging,  and  is  shown  to 
a  rude  chamber,  where,  just  as  he  is  about  to  lie  down, 
he  spies  some  object  crouching  among  the  shadows, 
and  moving  toward  it,  behold,  a  peasant  armed  with  a 
glittering  sword.  And  the  wretched  Czar  departs  in 
haste,  saying,  "My  enemies  are  my  own  subjects;" 
and  he  pauses  not  till  he  is  far  beyond  the  boundaries 
of  his  own  realm.  Now  at  last  in  a  country  ruled  by 
another,  thinking,  "  I  am  surely  safe,"  he  throws  him- 
self down  by  the  wayside,  faint  and  footsore  ;  but  just 
as  sweet  sleep  is  stealing  over  him,  listen — a  rustling, 
and  look — a  highwayman  standing  near  with  lifted 
sword  ;  and  he  wearily  moans,  and,  rising,  hastens  away. 


156  STOKIES   AND    BALLADS. 

At  length  lie  comes  to  a  great  city,  and  saying, 
"  Surely  none  will  know  me  or  wish  to  harm  me  here," 
he  finds  lodgings  for  the  night,  and  lays  himself  down  to 
rest,  when  lo !  one  approaches  softly  with  lifted  sword, 
and  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  recognizes  the  face  of  him  he 
saw  in  the  field  beyond  the  palace  garden.  "  Alas,  he 
has  folio  wed  me  hither!"  he  cries,  and  hurriedly  leaves 
the  city. 

And  so,  wherever  he  goes,  he  dares  not  sleep,  either 
from  fear  of  assassins,  or  of  highwaymen,  or  of  wild 
beasts.  And  so  he  wanders,  and  ever  wanders  on. 
And  one  day  as  he  drags  himself  along,  seeking  a  place 
to  rest,  he  stops  to  drink  from  a  fountain  beside  the 
path,  and  as  he  kneels  over  the  smooth,  mirror-like 
waters,  he  discovers  that  his  locks  are  very  white,  and 
that  his  garments  are  thread-bare  and  torn.  Still  on- 
ward and  onward  he  journeys,  sleep  the  one  thing  that 
he  longs  for. 

At  last,  as  he  emerges  from  the  shadows' of  a  dark 
defile  between  high  mountains,  he  lifts  his  heavy, 
drooping  eyelids,  and  beholds,  spread  out  beyond,  a 
valley  far  lovelier  than  any  he  has  seen  in  all  his 
journeyings.  Slowly  and  gently  it  climbs  up  and  into 
the  purpling  distance,  with  other  valleys  stepping 
down  between  the  hills  to  meet  it,  and  little  hamlets 
nestling  at  the  feet  of  those  hills.  And  he  says, 


At  last,  as  he  emerges  from  the  shadows  of  a  dark  defile  between  high 
mountains.— PAGE  156. 


CZAR    AND    CARPENTER.  157 

"Surely  in  so  peaceful  a  valley  nothing  can  disturb 
me.-  I  will  get  me  to  one  of  those  villages  and  inquire 
for  an  inn,  and  there  I  will  rest — there  I  will  sleep, 
sleep,  sleep." 

But  just  where  the  denle  opens  into  the  valley  he 
encounters  an  armed  sentinel,  who  steps  forward  and 
asks  for  his  pass. 

"  I  have  no  pass,"  he  answers. 

"  Then  thou  canst  not  enter." 

"  But  I  am  no  common  man.  I  am  great,  and  famous, 
and  much  feared." 

"  That  matters  not.  Thou  hast  no  pass.  I  may  not 
let  thee  enter." 

"  But  hark  you  !     I  am  Czar  of  all  the  Russias." 

"  Whatever  or  whoever  thou  art,  thou  hast  no  pass  ; 
therefore  our  King  know&  thee  not ;  I  may  not  let  thee 
enter.  Answer  me  no  more." 

And  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  complaining  bitterly,  crawls 
a  little  way  off  and  casts  himself  down  among  the 
rocks.  While  he  lies  there,  peering  wistfully  into  the 
beautiful  valley,  wondering  at  the  blueness  of  the  hea- 
vens and  the  softness  of  the  light,  listening  to  the  gurg- 
ling of  waters,  and  catching  glimpses  of  cataracts 
flashing  down  the  distant  hills,  under  overhanging 
branches — while  he  lies  there,  one,  haughty,  and  bear- 
ing himself  like  a  prince,  draws  near,  and  Rudolph  re- 


158  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

members  to  have  met  him  in  a  spacious,  oak-paneled 
library,  long  ago,  when  he,  the  Czar,  was  a  boy. 

No  sooner  does  this  one  reach  the  entrance  to  the 
valley,  than  the  sentinel  appears  as  before,  and  de- 
mands his  pass.  The  other  hands  him  a  paper,  which 
he  examines,  and  pronounces  to  be  worthless.  "It 
bears  not  our  King's  signature,  but  that  of  his  worst 
enemy.  Begone,  impostor ! " 

"  But  I  am  a  millionaire  !  I  own  ships  upon  the  sea, 
laden  with  merchandise,  and  mines  in  the  earth  rich 
with  ore,  and  acres  of  land  more  than  I  can  count !  " 

"  Away  !    Answer  me  no  more." 

And  the  rich  man  turns  away  in  wrath  and  confusion. 

Presently  appears  another,  in  workman's  garb,  which 
proves  to  be  only  a  disguise,  for,  as  he  nears  the  en- 
trance to  the  valley,  on  a  sudden  behold  him  a  warrior 
clad  in  armor!  And  this  armor  is  like  nothing  that 
Rudolph,  the  'Czar,  has  seen.  The  various  pieces  of 
which  it  is  composed  are  of  different  hues  ;  the  helmet 
white  as  snow,  and  so  dazzling  that  he  turns  his  eyes 
from  it  as  he  would  turn  them  from  the  burning  sun  of 
noonday  ;  the  breastplate  like  gold,  only  brighter  ;  the 
sword  red  like  flame  ;  •  the  shield  is  as  if  it  were  of  ad- 
amant, and  the  device  upon  it  is  an  anchor.  As  the 
warrior  gives  his  pass  to  the  sentinel,  the  Czar,  unseen, 
recognizes  his  own  father  ! 


CZAR   AND    CARPENTER.  159 

But  the  sentinel  does  not  look  at  the  pass.  "  I  know 
thee  by  thine  armor!  "  he  cries,  with  a  smile  of  -wel- 
come, and  immediately  blows  a  bugle  which  he  carries, 
and  the  sound  rings  through  the  valley — sweetly, 
sweetly !  winding  among  the  hills,  sending  back  a 
thousand  echoes  on  its  way.  Then  the  people  pour 
out  of  the  hamlets,  and  come  down  in  myriads  to  meet 
the  warrior,  strewing  the  way  with  flowers  and  greeting 
him  with  music — oh,  so  marvelous  !  oh,  so  thrilling ! 
that  the  very  light  moves  to  and  fro  in  little  waves,  as 
if  keeping  time,  and  the  flashing,  gurgling  waters  join 
the  chorus,  and  the  overhanging  branches  swing  a  slow 
accompaniment. 

Among  the  people  who  surround  the  warrior,  just 
one  glimpse  has  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  of  her  who  was 
once  his  mother,  arrayed  in  garments  the  beauty  of 
which  is  only  surpassed  by  the  beauty  of  her  face,  and 
her  face  surpasses  in  loveliness  all  that  he  ever  ima- 
gined could  be  ;  just  one  glimpse^  too,  of  another  face 
he  has  known ;  then  the  people  close  about  them  and 
they  are  lost  sight  of ;  and  while  he  reaches  out  his 
hands,  crying,  "  Oh,  my  mother !  Oh,  my  brother ! 
Oh,  my  father  !  "  the  radiant  throng  moves  backward 
up  the  valley  and  into  one  of  those  other  valleys,  and 
disappears,  and  the  music  grows  fainter  and  fainter. 
As  he  lies  weeping  and  listening  to  that  faint,  far  mel- 


160  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

ody,  one  from  the  valley,  mantled  in  white  and  mounted 
upon  a  snowy  steed,  rides  into  the  dark  defile,  and  as 
he  passes  by  where  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  lies,  the  latter 
questions : 

"  Where  have  they  taken  the  warrior  who  entered 
just  now  ?  " 

"  They  are  leading  him  to  the  royal  city,  to  receive 
from  our  King's  own  hands  the  unfading  crown  of 
laurels  which  is  given  to  the  victors." 

"  But  I  was  once  well  acquainted  with  this  one,  and 
I  never  knew  that  he  was  a  warrior,  nor  did  I  guess 
that  he  wore  armor." 

"  There  are  many  who  wear  armor  unsuspected,  and 
fight  their  battles  unseen." 

"  But  how  did  he  procure  his  pass  ?  " 

"  Hast  thou  not  heard  how  our  King  sends  forth 
spies  into  all  lands  to  search  for  those  who  will  make 
good,  loyal  subjects,  ever  willing  to  obey  and  carry  out 
his  commands  ?  To  all  such  are  given  passes,  signed 
by  the  King  himself,  that  when  they  come  hither  they 
may  be  allowed  to  enter.  All  others  are  excluded,  lest, 
entering,  they  annoy  the  peaceful  citizens,  and  stir  up 
strife  and  discord." 

"But  this  warrior's  armor  was  unlike  anything  I 
have  ever  seen.  Of  what  metal  is  it  composed  ?  " 

"  It  is  made  of  several  different  metals ;   the  hel- 


CZAE    AND    CAEPENTEE.  161 

met  of  a  mixture  of  two  metals,  called  Truth  and  Hon- 
esty ,•  the  breastplate  is  also  of  two  metals,  Patience 
and  Constancy  ;  the  sword,  of  the  Hatred  of  all  that  is 
base  and  evil ;  and  the  shield,  of  the  Hope  of  admis- 
sion to  our  land ;  for  this — to  gain  entrance  here — is 
considered  the  highest  privilege  that  can  be  granted  to 
any  mortal.  But  I  ride  on  an  errand  for  the  King,  and 
must  not  delay." 

"  One  moraeiit  more,  O  bright  one  !  Is  there  no 
secret  path  by  which  I  can  gain  entrance  to  this  peace- 
ful kingdom  ?  Ii  this  the  only  way  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  only  way." 

"  O  bright  one,  return,  I  pray  thee,  to  the  King,  and 
entreat  him  in  my  behalf  that  he  will  permit  me  to 
enter !  for  I  am  weary,  oh !  I  am  so  weary,  and  I  can 
find  no  place  where  I  may  rest ;  and  there,  too,  are  all 
who  love  or  care  for  me,  and  all  I  love  or  care  for." 

But  the  messenger  answers  sorrowfully,  "  Thou  hast 
no  pass  !  "  and  rides  away,  and  the  snow-white  mantle 
and  the  snow-white  steed  flit  along  through  the  brood- 
ing shadows  till,  in  the  distance,  they  are  lost  from 
view.  And  Rudolph,  the  Czar,  straining  his  eyes  to 
follow  them,  is  suddenly  startled  by  a  loud,  mocking 
laugh  that  rings  weirdly  up  and  down  the  dark  defile  ; 
and,  turning,  he  sees  standing  behind  him  the  tall, 
gaunt  personage  in  black ;  and  the  sight  of  that  muffled 


1(52  GOBIES  AND  BALLADS. 

figure  so  fills  him  with  terror,  that  he  rises  and  hastens 
away  as  fast  as  his  feeble  limbs  can  carry  him. 

And  now  there  comes  to  him  remembrance  of  a  place 
where,  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  rested  well  and  slept 
undisturbed ;  and  onward  he  journeys  by  land  and  sea, 
pausing  not  till  he  reaches  his  native  town  and  has 
found  the  humble  cottage  where  he  used  to  dwell  He 
creeps  softly  to  the  window  and  peers  in.  It  is  all 
there,  just  as  it  used  to  be — the  cupboard  in  this  cor- 
ner ;  the  chintz-covered  lounge  in  that ;  the  simple 
brown  paper  on  the  wall ;  the  window-curtains  of  mus- 
lin ;  the  clock  on  the  mantel ;  the  clean,  white  floor ; 
the  polished  stove ;  the  vapor  curling  from  the  spout 
of  the  shining  tea-kettle — all  there,  so  comfortable,  so 
cosy,  so  homelike !  But  the  people  are  strangers. 
That  is  not  little  Karl  playing  on  the  floor  ;  that  is  not 
the  mother  knitting  in  the  rocking-chair.  And  Ru- 
dolph, the  Czar,  weeps  again,  remembering  how  the  last 
words  he  had  for  them  were  harsh  words,  and  that  he 
is  never  to  see  them  more. 

,    At  length  he  knocks  at  the  door  and  explains  to  the 
master  of  the  house — 

"  I  am  a  feeble  old  man,  in  agony  of  weariness  for 
lack  of  sleep  ;  for  I  have  traveled  far  and  searched 
long,  but  have  found  no  place  where  I  might  rest  in 
peace.  And  I  finally  botliouglit  me  of  a  low  room  un- 


CZAE   AND    CAEPENTER. 


163 


ler  a  sloping  roof,  where,  in  my  childhood,  I  rested 
well  and  undisturbed.  The  roof  above  is  that  same 
sloping  roof,  and  beneath  it  is  that  chamber.  And  I 
will  give  to  thee,  good  sir,  all  the  gold  in  my  purse — 
and  there  is  much  gold  in  it — if  I  may  lodge  there  for 
one  night  only,  and  sleep  once  more  as  I  slept  wlien  I 
was  a  lad." 

And  the  good  man  of  the  house  bids  him  enter  and 
welcome,  but  refuses  the  proffered  gold.  And  Ru- 
dolph, the  Czar,  climbs  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  the  low 
room  under  the  sloping  roof,  and  he  lies  down  there, 
forgetting  to  look  for  the  lifted  sword,  and  he  closes 
his  weary  eyes,  and  a  delicious  drowsiness  steals  over 
him,  and  there  is  no  fear  in  his  heart,  and  nothing  mo- 
lests him,  and  at  last  he  sleeps,  sleeps,  sleeps. 

What  sound  is  that  ?  A  ringing  of  bells.  It  wakens 
Rudolph.  He  gazes  about  the  room.  On  a  stand  in 
*  the  corner  a  lamp  is  dimly  burning.  Some  one  is  sit- 
ting here  beside  the  bed.  "  Oh,  go  away,  good  sir,  and 
leave  me  in  peace  !  "  he  moans  piteously.  "  Did  I  not 
offer  thee  all  the  gold  in  my  purse  ?  Why,  then,  dost 
thou  trouble  me  ?  Do  no  murder,  I  beseech  thee,  for 
I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  I  have  not  slept  before  in  a 
hundred  years." 

"  Thou  art  dreaming,  Rudolph.  There  is  nothing  to 
fear." 


1G4  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Thou,  my  father  !  "  and  he  seizes  the  two  toil-hard- 
ened hands,  covering  them  with  kisses  and  with  tears. 
"  How  earnest  thou  here?  I  feared  I  should  never  be- 
hold thy  face  again  !  And  where  are  my  mother  and 
my  brother?  " 

"  The  dear  mother  and  our  little  Karl  will  see  thee 
in  the  morning  to  wish  thee  a  '  Happy  New  Year.'  ' 

A  Happy  New  Year  !  Kudolph  puts  his  hand  to  his 
forehead,  as  if  to  smooth  out  some  knot  there  under- 
neath. "  Truly,  I  do  not  know,"  he  murmurs,  "  it  all 
seemed  so  real.  Have  I  been  dreaming,  dear  father  ?  " 

And  then  the  father  explains  how  he  heard  wailing 
and  shrieking  in  the  night,  and  came  to  learn  the 
cause,  but,  fearing  a  fever,  staid  to  watch  awhile. 

"  It  is  hard,  dear  father,  that  after  thou  hast  been 
working  all  the  day  thou  must  needs  watch  all  the 
night." 

"I  would  do  much  more  than  that  for  Rudolph,  al- 
though he  is  '  only  the  son  of  a  carpenter.'  " 

"  Alas,  that  I  talked  in  my  sleep !  " 

Hark,  the  bells !  once  more  they  clang  together — 
all  the  bells  in  the  town.  So  it  is,  so  it  is  the  New 
Year !  They  are  ringing  in  the  New  Year.  And  these 
New- Year  days — standing  like  mile-stones  all  along  the 
highway  of  Time — who  gave  them  to  the  world  for 
holidays  ?  Was  it  not  "  the  carpenter's  son  "  ?  Ku- 


CZAR   AND    CARPENTER. 


165 


dolpli,  trying  to  smooth  out  the  kink  in  his  brain, 
finds  that  thought  entangled  with  it,  somehow.  After 
awhile  he  exclaims,  with  face  aglow  : 

"  It  is  good  that  this  is  the  first  day  of  the  year ! 
That  is  the  grand  time  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf — no,  to 
put  on  a  new  suit  of  armor !  For  I  have  learned  some- 
thing from  my  dream,  father;  it  is  this — thou  art  a 
Hero.  And  I  mean  to  be  another,  just  like  thee !  " 

And  the  father  looks  down  into  Rudolph's  eyes,  and 
sees  that  the  demon  has  departed. 


QUEEN  MABEL. 


(166) 


"Green,  green  are  the  meadows, 

And  blue,  blue  is  the  sky, 
And  glad,  glad  is  the  morning, 

And  happy  and  gay  am  I. 
Tirra-la-la,  la,  la,  la  ! 

And  happy  and  gay  am  I. 

"White,  white  are  the  daisies 

Blossoming  everywhere, 
And  red,  red  are  the  roses, 
And  sweet,  sweet  is  the  air  ! 

"And  sweet  is  the  burnie's  music, 

And  the  music  of  bee  and  bird — 
Ha,  ha  !  the  sweetest  music 
That  ever  and  ever  you  heard  ! 

"  Gold,  golden  the  sunbeams, 

And  bright,  bright  is  the  day, 
And  the  bees,  and  the  birds,  and  Mabel, 
Little  of  .care  have  they  ! 

"Oh!  and  over  the  meadows, 

Oh !  and  under  the  sky, 
And  all  in  the  dewy  morning, 
Happy  and  gay  am  I ! 


p* 

I 

i 


QUEEN    MABEL.  ^ 

Tirra-la-la,  la,  la,  la  ! 
Happy  and  gay  am  I ! " 

The  queen  passed  by  in  her  carriage, 

And  little  Mabel's  song, 
By  a  roving  zephyr  wafted, 

She  heard  as  she  rode  along. 
"Ah,  child  !  "  she  sighed  as  she  listened, 

A  shadow  upon  her  brow — 

"With  the  birds,  and  the  bees,  and  the  blossoms 
How  happy  and  gay  art  thou  ! " 

Standing  knee-deep  in  clover, 

Mabel  looked  up  and  saw 
The  glitter  and  royal  splendor, 

And  her  voice  was  hushed  with  awe  ; 
And  the  light  from  her  sweet  eyes  faded, 

And  the  song  died  out  of  her  heart ; 
"O  queen  ! "  she  sighed  in  her  envy, 
"How  happy  and  grand  thou  art ! " 

And  the  glee  was  gone  from  the  morning, 

The  gladness  gone  from  the  day, 
*As  through  the  tangle  of  clover 

She  wearily  took  her  way. 
*5  What  a  wretched  place  to  live  in! " 

She  paused  at  a  cottage  door. 
__ u  How  lowly  and  plain  and  humble  ! 

I  never  noticed  before  ! " 
And  over  her  work  she  muttered, 
"Little  the  queen  of  the  land 


168  STOSIES    AND   BALLADS. 

With  the  soot  and  grime  of  the  kitchen 

Needs  ever  to  soil  her  hand  ! " 
And  over  her  simple  sewing, 

As  the  afternoon  went  by, 
Often  she  fell  to  musing, 

Often  she  breathed  a  sigh; 
And  often  she  thus  would  murmur — 
"I  doubt  if  ever  the  queen 
Would  deign,  with  her  jeweled  fingers, 

To  sew  an  inch  of  a  seam." 
And  wearily  on  her  pillow 

At  even  she  laid  her  head; 
"  I  never  shall  be  a  queen,"  she  sobbed, 
"And  I  wish  that  I  were  dead  ! " 

But  presently  came  a  message, 

Beading — oh,  was  it  true  ? — 
"Arise  and  come  to  me,  Mabel; 

I,  the  queen,  have  sent  for  you. " 
Then  quick  to  the  royal  palace 

She  rode  in  the  carriage  grand, 
And  they  led  her  through  halls  of  marble 

To  the  queen  of  all  the  land;     * 
And  the  queen  arose,  and  laying 

Her  crown  at  Mabel's  feet, 
"  I  go  to  be  free  and  happy, 

And  play  in  the  meadows  sweet," 
She  said,  and  to  all  her  people — 
"Farewell ! "  and  "  farewell ! "  she  said; 
And  the  people  took  up  the  golden  crown 


QUEEN    MABEL.  109 

And  put  it  on  Mabel's  head. 
And  oh!  it  was  heavy,  heavy  ! 
Heavy,  heavy  as  lead  ! 

To  a  gilded  throne  they  brought  her, 

In  purple  and  ermine  clad. 
"Hail  to  thee,  fair  queen  Mabel ! " 

They  shouted  with  voices  glad; 
And  "Hail  to  thee,  fair  queen  Mabel !" 

Bang  in  her  ears  all  day, 
Till,  weary,  herself  she  questioned, 
"Is  it  right,  is  it  right  to  stay  ? 
To  drive  the  cows  from  the  pasture 

Is  Mabel's  task  alone; 
And  my  father  at  work  since  morning, 

He  will  soon  be  coming  home. 

' '  He  will  miss  his  little  Mabel, 

For  there  is  no  one  but  me 
To  toast  the  bread  for  his  supper 

And  make  him  a  cup  of  tea. 
But  no  !   am  I  not  a  lady? 

It  is  no  care  of  mine 
To  worry  about  the  supper 

And  the  milking  of  the  kine  !" 

So  she  dwelt  in  the  marble  palace, 

And  dined  from  a  golden  plate, 
And  slept  in  a  silken  chamber, 

And  sat  in  the  chair  of  state. 
And  whenever  she  went  riding 


170  STORIES   AND    BALLADS. 

The  people  with  cheers  would  greet, 
And  maidens  and  little  children 

"With  blossoms  would  strew  the  street. 

And  royally  thus  lived  Mabel, 

Her  only  task— to  command; 
Servants,  unnumbered,  ready 

To  move  at  the  wave  of  her  hand; 
And  alway  about  her  lingered 

Gay  courtiers,  a  dazzling  throng; 
And  the  blithe  hours  swiftly  flitted 

With  story,  and  dance,  and  song. 
But  often  herself  she  questioned, 

As  she  sat  on  the  gilded  throne, 
"How  is  it  with  them,  I  wonder — 

How  is  it  with  them  at  home  ?  " 

As  the  palace  with  mirth  and  music 

Echoed  and  rang,  one  night, 
The  people  peered  through  the  windows, 

Watching  the  festive  sight: 
And  a  beggar  in  rags  and  tatters, 

Listening,  shook  his  fist; 
"What  right  have  they  to  be  merry 

When  my  little  ones  starve  ?  "  he  hissed. 
And  the  people  his  words  repeated: 
"What  right,  to  be  sure  ?  "  they  said, 
"Flaunting  in  silks  and  diamonds 

While  our  little  ones  cry  for  bread." 

And  ever,  as  thus  they  murmured, 
Louder  their  voices  grew, 


QUEEN    MABEL.  ill 

Till,  all  in  a  red-hot  anger, 

To  the  palace  doors  they  flew. 
And  the  sentinels,  at  each  entrance, 

Quickly  they  put  to  flight, 
And  hurried  with  cries  and  clamor 

Into  the  halls  so  bright — 
Into  the  halls  of  marble, 

With  clubs  and  with  axes  armed, 
Till  the  sound  of  their  shouts  and  curses 

The  courtiers  hearing,  alarmed, 
Fled  in  their  silks  and  diamonds, 

Leaving  the  queen  alone. 
On  rushed  the  riotous  rabble, 

Making  its  way  to  the  throne, 
And  they  who  had  "Hail  Queen  Mabel !  " 

Shouted  with  loyal  will, 
Now  aloft  their  cruel  weapons 

Brandished,  intent  to  kill. 

Then  she  shrieked  for  help  in  her  terror, 

Never  a  friend  came  nigh. 
So,  as  the  crowd  drew  nearer, 

Sudden  she  turned  to  fly; 
And  casting  aside  the  purple  robe 

And  the  heavy  golden  crown, 
Away  and  away  she  hastened,. 

To  the  meadows  she  wandsred  down; 

0 

Down  to  the  meadows  wandered, 

Hastened  away  and  away, 
Till  the  birds  and  the  dewy  blossoms 

"Were  ro-..-.  •  •.     •:  fche  • .    .    .        .V/. 


172  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

But  the  world  it  was  sad  and  silent, 

Clouded  and  gray  the  morn, 
As  wearily  on  she  wandered, 

Wearily  and  forlorn. 
The  burnie  it  went  complaining, 

Fretting  its  way  along, 
Making  no  pleasant  music, 

Singing  no  pleasant  song; 
And  ever  as  iu  the  hedges 

She  came  to  a  sweet  wild  rose, 
At  the  touch  of  her  queenly  fingers 

The  petals  would  sadly  close. 
Once  did  she  call,  "Sing,  birdies  !  " 

But  the  little  birds  were  dumb: 
"  Come  to  me  as  you  used  to  !  " 

But  they,  fearing,  would  not  come. 

"What  a  cosy  place  to  live  in  ! " 
She  paused  at  a  cottage  door. 
"  Not  a  palace  half  so  lovely 

Is  there  the  country  o'er  ! " 
Within  sat  a  woman  knitting — 

A  woman  aged  and  blind; 
And  ever  she  dropped  the  stitches, 

Trying  in  vain  to  find. 
"Grandmother,  let  me  help  thee," 

Mabel  held  out  her  hand. 
"Nay,"  said  the 'gray -haired  woman, 
"  Thou  art  the  queen  of  the  land  ! " 

Just  at  that  moment  entered 

A  workin^man — quick  she  cried 


QUEEN    MABEL.  173 

"  Father,  oh,  dost  thou  know  me  ?  " 

Sorrowfully  he  sighed, 
"Oh,  queen  and  gracious  lady, 

Tell  me  if  thou  dost  know 
Aught  of  our  little  Mabel, 

Who  was  lost  long  years  ago  ? 
On  a  sunny  summer  morning 

She  strayed  from  the  meadows  green. 
Tell  me  if  thou  hast  seen  her — 

Tell  me,  oh,  gracious  queen  ! " 

"Alas,  they,  too,  have  forgotten  !" 

Bowing  her  head,  she  wept — 
And  the  weeping  queen  awakened, 

And  found  she  had  only  slept. 
Safe  in  her  low -ceiled  chamber, 

Flooded  with  rosy  light, 
Only  the  little  Mabel, 

The  Mabel  of  yesternight ! 
Then  aloud  rejoicing  sang  she 

The  song  of  the  day  gone  by- 
"Glad,  glad  is  the  morning, 

An'd  happy  and  gay  am  II" 


PRINCESS    GEEDA. 


1174) 


I. 

The  King  carne  home  from  battle, 

He  came  in  triumph  proud; 
Before,  the  heralds  flying, 

With  trumpets  pealing  loud, 
Ten  thousand,  warriors  followed, 

With  gleaming  spear  and  shield, 
A  goodly  store  of  trophies 

Brought  from  the  bloody  field, 
A  forest  bright  of  banners 

Unfurled  like  tongues  of  flame, 
And  clanking  ranks  of-  captives 

To  swell  the  mighty  train. 

Beneath  the  arching  gateway 

And  up  the  stony  street, 
To  time  of  martial  music, 

Passed  on  the  trampling  feet; 
But  ever  chief  and  foremost 

The  King  in  triumph  rode; 
His  armor  flashed  in  sunlight, 

Gray-plumed  his  helmet  glowed, 
High  stepped  his  coal-black  charger, 


PK1NCESS    GEEDA.  175 

Impatient  of  the  rein, 
And  curved  the  sleek  neck  proudly 
And  shook  the  rippling  mane. 

More  proud  than  he  the  rider — 

In  look  and  mien  more  proud; 
Before,  the  heralds  speeding 

And  trumpeting  aloud 
How  Eric,  the  invader — 

Long  time  a  dreaded  foe — 
Lay  with  the  gory  corses 

Upon  the  plain  below; 
And  how  of  his  great  army 

A  paltry  little  band 
In  hopeless  rout 
Had  turned  about 

And  fled  to  their  own  land. 

Quick,  at  the  cry  of  herald 

And  clattering  of  hoof, 
From  door  and  wall  and  window, 

From  balcony  and  roof, 
Black  hung  the  crowd;  with  praises 

Did  all  the  city  ring — 
With  praises  for  the  warriors, 

"With  praises  for  the  King  :— 
So  loud,  the  infant  Gerda 

Was  wakened  from  her  sleep, 
And,  writhing  in  her  cradle, 

Forsooth  began  to  weep, 


176  STOBIES  AND  BALLADS. 

The  while  they  praised  her  father 

Till  all  the  air  did  ring, 
The  while  the  people  shouted, 
"Forever  live  the  King  ! " 

n. 

All  day  it  rained.     The  white  doves 

Came  not  at  Gerda's  call, 
To  flock  about  the  casement 

High  up  the  palace  wall, 
To  coo  'neath  her  caresses, 

And  plume  their  wings  of  snow, 
And  pick  the  crumbs  she  scattered 

Upon  the  ledge  below. 

It  rained  all  day.     The  sunbeams 

Were  weak  and  wan  and  rare — 
The  beams  that  seven  summers 

Had  played  with  Gerda's  hair. 
All  day  it  rained  unceasing. 

The  quaint  old  lofty  room, 
For  lack  of  bird  and  sunbeam, 

Was  drear  and  full  of  gloom; 
And  left  among  the  shadows, 

The  while  the  raindrops  beat, 
With  restless  little  fingers, 

With  restless  little  feet, 
Went  Princess  Gerda  roaming 

The  quaint  old  room  around, 
And  thus  behind  the  tapestry, 


There  in  the  masonry. 
Black  space  and  then  a  stairway.— PAGE  177. 


PEINCESS    GERDA.  177 

It  chanced,  a  picture  found — • 
A  painting  blurred  and  faded: 

Two  men  had  fought,  and  one 
Lay  vanquished,  while  the  other, 

With  foot  his  neck  upon, 
A  murd'rous  weapon  brandished 

Above  the  prostrate  head. 
"  Thou  hateful,  hateful  fellow  ! " 

In  anger  Gerda  said, 
And  clenched  her  small  fist  straightway 

And  smote  the  lifted  hand. 
Lo  !  backward  swung  the  picture, 

As  tho'  a  fairy's  wand 
Obeying;  and  before  her, 

There  in  the  masonry, 
Black  space  and  then  a  stairway—- 
So much  did  Gerda  see. 
*'  Where  does  it  go  ?  "  she  wondered, 

And,  no  one  being  nigh, 
Into  the  darkness  ventured, 

Nor  waited  for  reply. 

Down,  down,  and  ever  downward, 

The  granite  steps  led  on; 
With  now  and  then  a  winding, 

With  ever  and  anon 
A  pause,  a  narrow  landing, 

But  never  ray  of  light. 
On,  on,  went  little  Gerda, 

And  downward  thro'  the  night, 


178  STORIES  AKD  BALLADS. 

Recalling  wondrous  stories 

The  good  nurse  Hedvig  told 
Of  a  strange  realm  and  dreamlike, 

All  paved  and  ceiled  wfth  gold, 
Where  ruled  the  merry  elf -king — 

A  realm  far  underground, 
That  a  few  favored  mortals 

By  patient  search  had  found. 

So,  on  and  on  went  Gerda, 

And  downward  through  the  night. 
At  length  in  maze  of  passages 

That  led  to  left  and  right, 
The  stony  staircase  ended; 

And,  searching  in  the  dark, 
She  wandered  hither,  thither: 

The  elf-land,  where  ?    But  hark  ! 
What  sound  was  that  ?    She  listened. 

A  moaning  somewhere  near  ! 
Again,  again,  a  moaning  ! 

She  fled  away  in  fear. 
From  right  to  left  she  hurried; 

She  hurried  to  and  fro; 
She  called:  "  O  good  nurse  Hedvig, 

Come  to  me  here  below  ! " 

Came  never  word  of  answer. 

She  could  not  find  the  way. 
In  terror  trembling,  sobbing, 

Still  onward  did  she  stray. 


PRINCESS  TJEKDA. 

"  Who  weeps  ?  "    Again  she  listened. 

The  voice  was  low  and  kind. 
'"Tis  I — 'tis  Princess  Gerda; 

The  way  I  cannot  find." 

"Fear  not,  O  Princess  Gerda  ! 

If  thou  wilt  turn  the  key, 
How  gladly  will  I  offer 
To  be  a  guide  for  thee." 

Her  little  fingers  feeling 

The  slimy  stones  along, 
Found  out  the  door  of  iron — 

The  iron  door  so  strong: 
And  standing  there  on  tip-toe, 

With  all  her  might  and  main, 
She,  reaching,  tried  the  rusty  key, 

But  tried  and  tried  in  vain. 

**  Once  more,  once  more,  O  Princess  ! " 

At  that  she  tried  once  more ; 
The  hinges  grated  harshly, 

And  open  flew  the  door; 
And  one  came  forth  whose  features 

And  form  she  could  not  see 
For  the  deep  darkness  round  her  ; 

But  never  aught  cared  she, 
Because  the  voice  was  pleasant 

And  drove  away  all  fear — 
Th«  voice  that  softly  questioned, 
"  How  happened  Gerda  here  ?  " 


STOKIES  AND   BALLADS. 

"  Down,  down  the  longest  stairway 

That  ever  yet  was  found, 
I  came  to  hunt  for  fairies 
That  dwell  beneath  the  ground." 

"Now  tell  me,  sweetest  Gerda, 

If  I  will  show  the  way, 
And  lead  thee  from  the  darkness 

Par  up  into  the  day, 
"Wilt  never  of  thy  venture, 

Nor  ever  of  thy  guide, 
To  any  speak  ?    "Wilt  promise  ?  " 

She  eagerly  replied, 
"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes  !  I  promise  !  " 

And,  hand  in  hand,  the  two 
The  dank  and  dismal  corridors 

"Went  searching  through  and  through. 

t  narrow  length  of  passage, 

Low-ceiled,  at  last  they  gained, 
And  midway  in  this  passage 

A  narrow  doorway  framed  ; 
And  winding  from  this  doorway 

Stone  steps,  a  narrow  flight, 
They  found  and  followed — followed 

Far  up  out  of  the  night. 

But  when  the  little  Gerda, 

Safe  in  the  dim  old  room, 
That  now  seemed  full  of  sunlight 

After  the  greater  gloom — 


HEttNCESS    GEKDA. 

When  quick  she  turned  to  see  Mm 

Who  led — the  pictured  wall, 
The  overhanging  tapestry 

She  saw — and  that  was  all. 

And  many  days  she  marveled, 

And  many  nights  did  dream 
Of  that  good  guide  and  gentle, 

Who  came  and  went  unseen. 
But  never  more  the  stairway, 

So  long  and  dark,  she  tried. 
She  told  not  of  her  venture, 

She  told  not  of  her  guide. 

The  dungeon-keeper,  bringing 

The  daily  drink  and  bread, 
The  iron  doors  found  open  ! 

The  prisoners  had  fled  ! 
In  doubt  and  wonder  gazing, 

He  paled  with  sudden  fear  : 
"  Alack  !  the  King  will  hear  it ! 

Alack  !  the  King  will  hear  ! " 

Down  fell  the  bread  and  water — 

With  flaming  torch  he  sought 
A  narrow  length  of  passage 

Deep  through  the  rough  rock  wrought  ; 
And  there  for  miles  he  wandered, 

Lit  by  the  torch's  ray, 
Nor  guessed  how  lately  other  feet 

Had  traveled  the  same  Way. 


182  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

At  last  lie  reached  a  country 
Beside  the  western  sea — 

A  fair  and  goodly  country. 
There  now  in  peace  dwelt  he. 

m. 

The  years  have  passed,  and  Gerda, 

Now  grown  a  maiden  tall, 
Looks  from  the  latticed  casement 

High  up  the  palace  wall ; 
But  not  for  flash  and  flutter 

Of  snowy  wings  looks  she — 
Thro'  rain  or  sun 
No  longer  come 

The  white  doves  merrily  ; 
For  peace  and  they  have  flown  afar, 
And  all  the  land  is  red  with  war. 

Great  Ivar,  dreaded  Ivar, 

Who  rules  the  northern  coast, 
Across  his  rocky  borders 

Has  led  a  conquering  host ; 
And  smiling  field  and  hamlet 

Despoiling  as  they  came, 
Five  months  before  the  city  walls 

The  savage  hordes  have  lain. 
The  glimmer  of  their  camp-fires 

The  Princess  Gerda  sees, 
Their  tents,  their  hostile  ensigns 

A-floating  in  the  breeze. 


PEINCESS    GERDA.  183 

She  looks  forth  from  her  window 

With  eyes  grown  used  to  tears  ; 
And  as  she  looks  she  listens — 

What  sound  is  that  she  hears  ? 

A  crash,  a  shriek,  a  shouting — 

A  battlement  gives  way  ; 
Swift  thro'  the  breach  come  rushing 

The  foe  in  dire  array, 
And  sudden  as  a  thunder-storm 

Sweeps  o'er  the  smiling  day, 
The  air  is  dark  and  clamorous 

And  wild  with  deadly  fray. 

But  calm  and  clear 
Does  Gerda  hear 
His  orders  ring, 
As  the  brave  King, 
Unfaltering, 
Keeps  the  fierce  foe  at  bay. 

But  see  !  he  falls' ! 
"  The  King  is  down  ! " 
Who'll  guard  the  walls  ? 
Who'll  save  the  town  ? 
"  The  King  is  slain  !  we  fight  in  vain  ! 
Alack,  alack,  the  King  is  slain  ! " 

The  panic-stricken  soldiers, 

Pale-faced,  from  street  to  street 
Flee  wildly,  as  the  enemy 


184  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Pursue  their  flying  feet : 
"The  King  is  slain,  the  town  is  lost ! 
Who  can  withstand  great  Ivar's  host  1 " 

But  look  !  what  stranger  legions 

Against  the  hostile  tide 
Leap  forth  in  shining  armor 

And  bold  advancing  ride, 
Hide  on  and  ever  onward, 

Beat  back  the  hostile  tide  ? 

"The  gods  !  the  gods  !  Valhalla 

Has  sent  its  warriors  down 
To  fight  against  our  Ivar  ! 
,  To  battle  for  the  town  ! " 

And  in  dismay  and  terror 

Is  hushed  the  conquering  cry. 
From  street  to  street, 
In  swift  retreat, 
And  over  fallen  battlement, 

The  pale  besiegers  fly — • 
My  fast  and  far;  nor  pause  they 

Till,  on  the  northern  shore, 
They  see  the  birchen  forests, 
And  hear  the  breakers  roar. 

Meanwhile,  with  peals  of  gladnesa 

The  rescued  city  rang, 
And  loud  their  great  deliverance 

The  joyous  people  sang, 
And  loud  they  sang  the  praises 


PEINCESS   GEKDA.  185 

Of  him,  the  unknown  knight, 
Who  led  his  valiant  legions 
To  battle  for  the  right. 

So  loud  and  long  their  praises, 

Awaking  from  his  swoon, 
The  King  o'erheard,  and  seeing 

Who  wore  the  chieftain's  plume, 
Aghast,  stood  up  and  questioned, 

Hand  on  his  horse's  rein, 
"  What  art  thou — man  or  spirit  ? 

And  what  may  be  thy  name  ?  " 

"I  am,  O  King,  no  spirit; 

And  Eric  is  my  name; — 
Prince  Eric,  son  of  Eric, 
Who  sleeps  on  yonder  plain." 

"What!  Eric?  son  of  Eric  ? 
Ah,  I  have  heard  of  thee, 
How  wise  and  well  thou  rulest 

Beside  the  western  sea. 
But  why  dost  thou  come  hither 

To  drive  away  the  foe, 
And  earn  my  people's  praises, 
Since  well  thou  seem'st  to  know 
That  it  was  I, 
In  years  gone  by, 
Who  laid  thy  father  low  ?  " 

"Not  for  thy  people's  praises 
I  hither  led  my  band, 


286  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

But  -with,  O  king,  thy  favor, 
To  win  thy  daughter's  hand." 

"  Great  soul  and  gallant  suitor  ! 

Well  doth  he  play  his  part, 
Who,  seeking  hand  of  daughter, 
Doth  steal  the  father's  heart. " 

But  Princess  Gerda  saw  not: 

She  heeded  naught  of  all, 
Nor  gazed  she  from  the  window 

High  up  the  palace  wall. 
"  Wherefore  the  loud  rejoicing, 

Wherefore  the  triumph  vain, 
Since  he  is  dead — my  father, — 

Since  he,  the  King,  is  slain  ?  " 

With  streaming  eyes  she  greeted 

Two  ent'ring  at  the  door, 
Aye,  even  him  who  bowed  so  low 

His  white  plumes  swept  the  floon 
The  other — lo  !  her  father  ! 

Behold  his  spirit  come  ! 
She  stood  in  trembling  wonder; 

Her  pallid  lips  were  dumb. 

"Fear  not,  O  Princess  Gerda  ! 
If  thou  wilt  turn  the  key, 
How  gladly  will  I  offer 
To  be  a  guide  for  thee  ! " 

So  spake  the  Prince;  and  Ger&* 
In  listening  paler  grew; 


PEINCESS    GEEDA.  187 

Becalling  guide  and  venture, 

The  words,  the  voice  she  knew. 
"They  come  to  me  from  spirit-land  ! 
Two  heroes  are  they,  tall  and  grand, 
And  clad  in  armor  bright !  " 
And  in  her  fear, 
As  they  drew  near, 

The  quaint  old  room  reeled  round  her, 
And  all  was  black  as  night. 

But  when  again  the  Princess 

Her  blue  eyes  opened  wide, 
And  saw  the  good  King  kneeling 

And  smiling  at  her  side, 
And  heard  him  softly  whisper, 
"Behold,  my  little  one, 
I  bring  to  thee  a  suitor 

Will  please  me  for  a  son  " — 
She  bowed  in  sweet  submission, 

And  meekly  answered  she : 
"  Whatever  please  my  father, 

That  also  pleaseth  me." 

And  in  the  royal  city, 

And  all  the  country  thro', 
Were  festal  cheer  and  gladness 

Where  late  were  war  and  woe; 
For  the  good  King's  dominions 

And  those  the  sea  beside, 
Were  wed  v>-hen  Princess  Gerda 

Became  brave  Eric's  bride. 


JUNGENTHOR,   THE   GIANT. 


O  Giant  Jungenthor, 
What  a  mighty  one  was  he  ! 
He  was  so  big,  he  was  so  strong, 
Whenever  he  walked  the  world  along 
The  people  would  turn  in  terror, 
The  people  would  turn  and  flee — 

Oh,  oh,  Jungenthor, 
Such  a  mighty  one  was  he ! 

Oh,  Giant  Jungenthor, 

What  a  terrible  one  was  he  ! 
Whenever  he  went  to  take  a  ride, 
The  bald  old  oaks  would  step  aside, 

The  pines  would  bend  the  knee  : 
And  at  the  sound  of  his  heavy  tread 
The  hills  would  tremble  and  quake  with  dread, 

The  islands  would  rise  to  see— 
Oh,  oh,  Jungenthor, 

Such  a  terrible  one  was  he  ! 

Oh,  Giant  Jungenthor, 
What  a  dreadful  one  was  he  ! 

Whenever  he  happened  to  say  a  word, 
(188) 


JUNGENTHOR,   THE  GIANT.  189 

For  miles  and  for  miles  his  voice  was  heard, 

Like  the  thunder's  roar  and  rumble  ; 
The  stones  would  rock  and  the  timbers  shake, 
The  glass  in  the  windows  all  would  break, 

The  chairs  and  tables  tumble  ; 
The  kettles  and  pans  would  play  and  prance, 
About  the  shelves  would  the  dishes  dance, 
The  clock  would  stop  and  the  doors  swing  wide, 
The  cats  would  scamper,  the  dogs  would  hide, 

The  pigs  would  squeal  and  grumble  ; 
The  cocks  would  crow  and  the  geese  would  fly, 
The  women  would  scream,  the  children  cry, 

The  men  look  pale  and  humble  ; 
And  that  is  the  way  it  would  be — 

Oh,  oh,  Jungenthor, 
Such  a  dreadful  one  was  he  ! 

Where  dwelt  Jungenthor, 

"Where  in  the  world  dwelt  he  ? 
Not  on  the  mountains  clad  with  snow, 
Not  in  the  valleys  deep  below, 

Not  by  the  surging  sea ; 
Not  in  the  desert  white  with  sand, 
Not  in  the  icy  Northern  land, 

Not  in  the  South  Countrie. 
Oh,  oh,  Jungenthor, 

Where  in  the  world  dwelt  he  ? 

Under  the  mountains  clad  with  snow, 
Under  the  valleys  deep  below, 


190 


Under  the  surging  sea  ; 
Under  the  desert  white  with  sand, 
Under  the  icy  Northern  land, 

Under  the  South  Countrie  ; 
Down,  down,  under  them  all — 
They  but  the  "floor,  and  roof,  and  wall — 
There  in  a  cavern  high  and  wide 
(For  the  round  earth  was  but  a  shell ; 
"Who  and  whoever  knew  so  well 
As  Jungenthor  what  was  inside  ?) 
There,  there,  there  did  he  dwell, 

There,  and  oh  there  dwelt  he. 

What  do  you  guess  was  there  inside 
That  earth-bound  cavern,  high  and  wide  ? 
Oh,  there  were  millions  of  chambers  roomy, 
Oh,  there  were  galleries  long  and  gloomy, 

Oh,  there  were  wondrous  sights  ! 
Here  the  ceilings  were  golden-beamed, 
There  the  pavement  with  jewels  gleamed, 

With  marbles  and  malachites  ; 
Diamonds  were  set  in  the  roof  for  stars, 
The  rafters  were  made  of  silver  bars, 

The  columns  of  crystal  clear. 
Oh,  in  that  cavern,  high  and  wide, 
Had  ever  a  daring  mortal  tried 
To  travel  alone  and  without  a  guide, 
He  had  lost  his  way 
And  gone  astray 
And  wandered  many  a  year  ; 


JUNGENTHOK,   THE  GIANT.  191 

And  if  lie  had  met  the  giant, 
He  surely  had  died  of  fear. 

But  there  was  a  fairy  who  knew  the  way  : 
Often  by  night  and  often  by  day 
To  a  dense  forest  she  would  go, 
And  there,  in  a  cave-all  dark  and  low, 
A  rock  as  heavy  as  iron, 

And  as  bright  and  as  black  as  coal, 
Swift,  when  her  wand  she  lifted, 

Away  and  away  would  roll ; 
And  down  would  she  clamber,  clamber, 
Through  hundreds  of  miles  of  gloom, 
On  the  reminds  of  a  golden  ladder 
That  led  to  a  wonderful  room— - 
Oh,  a  wonderful,  wonderful  chamber, 

Flooded  with  amber  light ; 
For  there,  at  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
A  mighty  fire  on  a  mighty  hearth 

Burned  ruddy,  and  warm,  and  bright ; 
Burned  ruddy  and  bright  forever, 

"With  billows  of  orange  flame, 
And  the  giant's  occupation 

Was — never  to  let  it  wane. 
And  there  would  the  fairy  find  him 

Stirring  the  coals  red  hot  : 
"  Good-morrow  to  you,  Jungenthor  !  " 

So  would  the  fairy  say  ; 
"  And  what  and  what  does  "Winnikin  want, 
And  what  does  she  want  to-day  ?  " 


192  STORIES  AND  BALLADa 

So  would  the  giant  grumble  ; 
But  Winnikin  feared  him  not. 

And,  now,  "  O  Giant  Jungenthor  !  " 

Did  her  tale  of  wrong  begin, 
•     "  There  are  two  wicked  cities — 

A  trouble  to  "Winnikin, 
The  rich  they  are  proud  and  cruel, 

The  poor  they  will  lie  and  steal, 
And  trouble  is  always  brewing 

That  "Winnikin  cannot  heal ; 
And  the  friendly  care  and  watching 

Of  the  fairies  they  are  not  worth; 
O  Jungenthor,  those  cities 

Are  blots  on  the  face  of  the  earth  I" 

As  soon  as  he  guessed  her  errand, 

The  giant  poked  the  fire 
Till  it  roared,  and  hissed,  and  crackled, 

Till  the  flames  curled  high  and  higher, 
And  billows  of  smoke  and  cinders 

From  the  chimney-top  rolled  out, 
And  darkened  the  sky  at  noonday, 

And  shadowed  the  land  about. 
Then  he  filled  ten  billion  barrels 

With  the  soot  that  trickled  down, 
And  up  through  the  chimney  hurled  them. 

Up  through  the  chimney  brown; 
And  lo  !  when  the  morning's  sunlight 

Shone  through  the  clouds  of  smoke, 


JUNGENTHOR,   THE  GIANT.  193 

In  those  two  wicked  cities 

Neither  prince  nor  beggar  woke  ; 
For  the  soot  from  the  giant's  chimney 

Had  deluged  the  country  wide  ; 

And  over  those  wicked  cities 

• 

It  rolled  in  a  turbid  tide. 
All  in  the  night 
They  were  buried  from  sight. 
"Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Giant  Jungenthor, 
"Is  Winnikin  satisfied  ?  " 

And  this  was  the  fairy's  errami 

When  she  came  another  time : 
"  O  Jungenthor,  a  monarch 

Has  builded  a  palace  fine  ; 
Aided  by  dwarf  and  elfin 

He  has  builded  it  tall  and  grand. 
With  marble  white  from  the  quarrj, 

Not  hewn  by  mortal  hand  ; 
For  night  by  night 
In  the  pale  moonlight 

Did  we  hammer  and  delve  away, 
To  get  the  great  stones  ready 

For  the  workmen  of  the  day. 
O  Jungenthor,  we  labored, 

Behold,  for  a  thankless  King ! 
For  he  has  cut  down  the  forest 

Where  oft,  in  a  merry  ring, 
Did  the  fairies  dance  and  frolic, 

Or  among  the  branches  swing. 


194  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

After  all  our  toil  and  trouble 
He  has  destroyed  our  trees, 

And  the  sight  of  his  gorgeous  palace 
Winnikin  does  not  please." 

As  soon  as  her  story  ended 

Did  the  angry  giant  frown; 
He  lifted  his  voice  of  thunder, 
And  the  palace  toppled  down. 
Oh  !  he  roared  so  loud 
That  the  frightened  crowd 
Fled  from  the  tumbling  town, 
And  the  thankless  monarch  stumbJed, 

And  fell,  and  broke  his  crown. 
And  forth  from  his  firelit  cavern 
Did  the  giant  peep  and  grin, 
Then  growled  at  the  fay  beside  him — 
"  Does  that  please  Winnikin  ?  " 

And  such  werevthe  fairy's  errands. 

As  from  time  to  time  she  camo 
To  Jungenthor  the  giant, 

Feeding'  the  flood  of  flame; 
And  such  were  the  tales  she  told  him 
Of  trouble,  and  wrong,  and  grief, 
And  thus  and  so 
Would  the  giant  go 
To  Winniken's  relief. 

Once  came  the  fairy,  weeping, 
"  O  Jungenthor  !  "  said  she, 


JITNGENTHOR,   THE  GIANT. 

"O  mighty  giant,  listen 

To  the  news  I  bring  to  thee. 

11  All  up  among  the  mountains, 

Amid  the  forests  dim, 
There  stands  a  ruined  castle, 

A  castle  old  and  grim : 
And  in  its  shade  at  evening 

The  elves  are  wont  to  meet, 
To  dance  upon  the  mosses 

And  sway  with  lilies  sweet. 
Well,  yestere'en,  it  happened, 

Just  at  the  midnight  hour, 
While  we  were  making  merry, 

Forth  from  the  vine- wreathed  tower 
There  came  a  plaintive  moaning, 

And  I  alone  who  heard 
Flew  up  the  twining  ivy, 

As  lightly  as  a  bird, 
And  found  on  high  a  dungeon 

Beneath  the  shattered  roof, 
And  there  a  pale  young  captive 

From  mortal  aid  aloof, 
By  heavy,  clanking  irons 

Chained  to  the  wall  of  stone. 
O  Jungenthor,  good  reason 

Has  he  to  weep  and  moan  ! 
And  this  is  what  he  told  me, 

And  this  is  what  he  told; 
Now  hear,  O  mighty  giant, 

What  fiends  the  earth  doth  hold: 


196  STORIES  AND   BALLADS. 

"  'All  up  a  mountain  pathway, 

That  winds  through  forests  green, 
There  rode  three  gallant  horsemen 

And  nevermore  were  seen. 
Three  other  gallant  horsemen 

Rode  up  in  search  of  them, 
Kode  up  the  narrow  pathway — 

And  came  not  back  again. 

And  after  went  three  others 

» 

The  mountain  searching  o'er — 
It  fared  with  those  three  others 

As  with  them  that  went  before. 
And  all  the  people  marveled, 

And  all  were  filled  with  fear, 
And  no  one  dared  to  venture 

The  mountain  pathway  near. 

"  '  Now,  one  of  those  nine  horsemen 

Was  a  knight  of  our  good  King  ; 
And  so  a  prize  he  offered 

To  any  who  should  bring 
A  true  report  and  trusty 

Of  all  those  hapless  men 
Who  ventured  up  the  mountain 

And  ne'er  came  down  again. 
Whoso  should  dare  the  pathway 

And  bring  a  true  report, 
Thus  he  should  be  rewarded*- 

Oh,  he  should  dwell  at  court, 
And  all  shoiild  do  him  honor, 


JUNGENTHOK,   THE  GIANT.  197 

And  the  King  should  make  him  knight, 
And  give  to  him  a  war-horse 
And  a  suit  of  armor  bright ! 

"  'Now,  we  are  seven  brothers, 

So  hale,  and  strong,  and  tall, 
Save  me,  who  am  the  seventh, 

The  youngest  of  them  all; 
And  for  my  lowly  stature, 

Fair  face,  and  yellow  curls, 
The  rest  they  loved  to  taunt  me 

And  tease  the  livelong  day, 
The  while  we  watched  the  cattle 

Or  turned  the  new-mown  hay. 
"Go  hence,  go  hence,  fair  lily, 

And  haste  thee,"  they  would  say; 
"Lest  thou  shouldst  tan  or  freckle 

Beneath  the  burning  sun, 
Go  get  thyself  a  bonnet 

To  shield  thee,  gentle  one  ! 
Go  gossip  with  old  women  ! 

Go  spin  and  sew  with  girls  ! " 

"  'Aweary  of  their  mocking 

And  jests  at  last  I  grew, 
And  much  I  thought  and  pondered 

What  brave  deed  I  might  do, 
Their  cruel  scorn  to  silence; 

And  when  I  heard  the  news, 
A  chance  such  prize  of  winning 


198  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

How  could  I  well  refuse  ? 
So,  thro'  the  brooding  midnight, 

The  while  the  others  slept, 
Across  the  fields  and  pastures 

All  silently  I  crept; 
And  when  mine  eyes  I  lifted 

At  breaking  of  the  day, 
I  saw  afar  the  mountain, 

Toward  which  I  took  my  way. 
And  on,  and  on  I  journeyed, 

Till,  just  as  night  came  down, 
I  passed  into  the  forest 

Among  the  shadows  brown. 
Then  up  the  winding  pathway 

I  hurried  on,  in  fear, 
'Till,  through  the  darkness  shining 

Forth  from  a  ruin  near, 
A  light  I  spied,  and  thither 

I  turned,  in  hope  I  might 
Find  food — for  I  was  hungry — 

And  shelter  for  the  night. 
I  reached  the  door,  and  ent'ring 

(I  thought  the  place  an  inn, 
For  there  were  sounds  of  feasting 

And  merriment  within), 
Fierce  men,  with  cruel  weapons, 

A  table  gathered  'round, 
Sprang  up  and  seized  me,  helpless, 

And  with  these  fetters  bound. 
"  What  brings  thee  here,  thou  stripling  ?' 


JTJNGENTHOR,   THE  GIANT. 

In  anger  questioned  they. 

*'  O  sirs,"  I  answered,  trembling, 

"  I've  journeyed  all  the  day  ; 

For  food,  and  rest,  and  shelter 

I  chanced  to  turn  this  way, 
But  since  I  am  not  welcome, 
Let  me  pass  on,  I  pray." 

"Ha,  not  so  fast,  young  villain  ! 

We  know  that  is  a  lie. 
What  errand  brings  thee  hither  ? 

Confess  thou  art  a  spy  ! " 
"  It  is  a  peaceful  errand, 

O  sirs,"  I  answered  then  ; 
"I  seek  nine  gallant  horsemen. 

And  have  ye  heard  of  them  ? 
They  rode  this  way,  nor  ever 

Eeturned,  and  I  would  bring 
Some  tidings  of  the  missing 

To  our  good  lord,  the  King." 
At  that,  with  peals  of  laughter 

The  dreary  place  did  ring. 
"Thou'lt  see  thy  gallant  horsemen 
Ere  thou  shalt  see  the  King  1 " 
They  said,  and  roughly  dragged  me 

Along  the  banquet-hall, 
And  up  into  this  lonesome  tower, 

And  chained  me  to  the  wall. 
"Lie  there,  lie  there  and  rest  thee  I" 
They  cried  in  mocking  tones  ; 


200  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Thou'rt  welcome  to  thy  lodging — 
And  the  lichens  on  the  stones  !"' 

"  '  O  fairy,  now  for  many  days 

Have  I  thus  helpless  lain  ; 
No  food  but  these  gray  mosses, 

No  drink  but  pearls  of  rain 
That  through  the  sunken  ceiling 

Drop  to  me  where  I  lie, 
When  the  blessed  clouds  in  pity 

Creep  downward  from  the  sky. 
O  fairy,  I  beseech  thee, 

Release  me  ere  I  die  ! 
For  they  who  keep  this  castle 

Are  robbers  fierce  and  bold, 
I've  learned  from  bloody  stories 

By  one  and  other  told, 
As  night  by  night,  grown  merry 

With  wine,  their  voices  rise, 
And  come  to  me  with  secrets 

Through  the  long  galleries. 
They  gather  here  at  midnight 

From  all  the  country  o'er, 
To  hide  their  plundered  treasure 

Beneath  the  stone-paved  floor, 
To  talk  of  their  adventures 

And  feast  till  break  of  day, 
When  quick  they  mount  their  horses, 

And  swiftly  ride  away 
To  seek  the  mountain-passes 


When  the  fairy  had  finished  speaking, 
The  giant  stood  up  and  knocked. — PAGE  301. 


JUNGENTHOR,   THE  GIANT.  201 

And  lie  in  wait  for  prey. 
The  very  steeds  that  bear  them 

Were  stolen,  and  they  tell 
Of  three  who  once  rode  hither, 

On  whom  they,  waiting,  fell 
And  slew,  and  of  three  others 

Who  up  the  mountain  came, 
And  yet  again  three  others; 

And  all  did  fare  the  same. 
And  now — for  who  could  doubt  it  ?— 

Those  were  the  missing  nine  ! 
Oh  !  I  would  bear  the  tidings, 

The  prize  it  should  be  mine, 
But  that  thus  bound  with  irons 

And  helpless  here  I  lie. 
Good  fairy,  I  beseech  thee, 

Belease  me  ere  I  die  ! ' 

"  Such  was  the  tale  he  told  me. 

O  Jungenthor,  I  plead 
That  thou  wilt  lift  thy  mighty  arm 
And  help  him  in  his  need." 

When  the  fairy  had  finished  speaking, 

The  giant  stood  up  and  knocked 
Again  and  again  on  the  ceiling, 
Till  the  ruined  castle  rocked, 
And  the  roof  fell  in 
With  a  deafening  din, 
And  the  stones  fell  out 


£02  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

And  tumbled  about ; 
And  the  thieves  who  merrily  feasted, 

Or  ever  they  could  take  flight, 
The  earth  gaped  wide  and  swallowed, 

Then  closed  and  covered  from  sight. 
"  Ha,  ha  !"  laughed  Giant  Jungenthor, 
"  Haven't  I  served  them  right  ?  " 

But  there  was  one  part  of  the  castle — 
The  tow'r  where  the  young  lad  lay- 
Left  standing  (and  who  denieth 

That  it  stands  there  to  this  day  ?) 
The  door  it  had  flown  wide  open 
At  the  knocking  of  Jungenthor, 
The  iron  chain 
It  had  snapped  in  twain, 
And  the  captive  was  free  once  more. 

And  still  in  his  clanking  fetters, 

"Wasted,  and  weak,  and  wan, 
He  crawled  away  to  the  forest, 

He  wandered  and  wandered  on. 
Bewildered  and  faint,  all  slowly 

Here  and  there  did  he  stray, 
Till  he  saw  a  snow-white  charger, 

With  saddle  and  trappings  gay, 
Feeding  among  the  herbage, 

And  him  did  he  mount  straightway, 
Saying,  "Good  steed, 
O  speed,  O  speed  ! 


JUNGENTHOE,   THE  GIANT.  203 

And  carry  me,  carry  me,  cany  me 
Safe  to  the  King  this  day  !  " 

Then  the  beautiful  snow-white  charger, 

As  tho'  he  had  understood, 
Galloped  ad  own  the  mountain, 

Down  and  on  through  the  wood; 
And,  eager,  as  one  long  absent 

Seeking  his  home  again, 
The  road  to  the  royal  city 

He  took  when  he  reached  the  plain  ; 
And  the  folk  in  the  fields  at  labor, 

And  the  passers  to  and  fro, 
Lifted  their  eyes  in  wonder, 

Seeing  him  speeding  so — 
For  ever  the  farther  he  traveled 

The  faster  he  seemed  to  go. 

The  King  from  the  palace  window 

Looked  forth  at  set  of  sun, 
And  along  the  dusty  highway 

Saw  a  horse  and  rider  come  ; 
And  he  watched  till  the  snow-white  charger 

Paused  at  the  palace  gate, 
Then  he  turned  to  the  courtiers  round  him, 

Saying  in  wonder  great, 
"  Look,  ye  !  it  is  the  war  horse 

Of  my  brave  knight,  Harald,  he 
Who  rode  on  the  fated  mission. 

Bring  the  rider  to  me  ! " 


204  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

And  into  the  royal  presence, 
Trembling,  the  young  lad  came, 

Wasted,  and  wan,  and  pallid, 
Feebly  dragging  his  chain, 

"  Who  art  thou  ?"  the  King  demanded, 

Marveling  at  the  sight; 
"  Whence  dost  thou  come,  and  wherefore, 

And  why  in  this  woeful  plight  ?  " 

Then  the  youth  made  timid  answer 

"  O  my  gracious  lord  the  King, 
I  am  a  humble  peasant, 

And  tidings  I  come  to  bring 
Of  the  fate  of  the  missing  horsemen. " 

Bidding  the  lad  come  near, 
Eager  the  King  did  question, 
And  the  courtiers  all, 
Both  great  and  small, 
Crowded  about  to  hear. 

When  the  boy  had  told  his  story 

The  King  laid  hand  on  his  head;— 
"If  thou  wert  but  ten  years  older 

I  would  make  thee  a  knight,"  he  said. 
"Alas  ! "  sighed  the  boy,  recalling 

The  scorn  and  the  cruel  jeers 
Of  his  brothers,  "  I  am  not  worthy, 
Because  of  my  youthful  years  ! " 
And  wasted,  and  weak,  and  pallid, 
He  sank  with  a  weary  moan. 


THE  GIANT.  805 


His  fetters  clanking  around  him, 
There  at  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

Then  the  King's  fair  little  daughter, 
Who  had  listened  with  tearful  eyes, 

Spake  softly,  "Have  pity,  my  father  I 
Hath  he  not  won  the  prize  ?  " 

"Arise  !  "  said  the  good  King,  smiling, 
"Forsooth  I  will  keep  my  word  " 
(And,  saying,  the  young  lad's  shoulder 

Lightly  he  touched  with  his  sword)  ; 
"Forsooth  I  will  keep  my  promise, 

Since  the  little  one  pleads  thy  claim  I 
Henceforth  shall  they  know  thee  only 

As  the  Knight  of  the  Golden  Mane. 
The  steed  that  hath  borne  thee  hither 

Henceforward  thine  own  shall  be, 
And  when  thou  art  grown  to  fit  it 

Mine  armor  I'll  give  to  thee." 
Then  to  the  servitors  turning  — 
"  Unbind  him  without  delay, 
Tho'  these  chains  were  a  badge  of  honor 

And  clanked  in  his  praise 


And  the  youthful  knight  thereafter 
At  the  court  of  the  King  abode, 

Like  a  prince  did  he  go  appareled, 
And  the  snow-white  steed  he  rode. 

And  the  King's  own  suit  of  armor 
He  wore  when  a  man  he  grew  — 


200  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Helmet,  and  shield,  and  coat  of  mail, 

And  the  good  King's  broad-sword,  too. 
And  so  valiant  was  he  in  warfare, 
And  so  wise  alway,  that  his  fame 
Afar  did  ring, 
And  the  foes  of  the  King 
Trembled  to  hear  his  name. 

Now,  once  to  the  royal  city 

The  people  by  thousands  came 
(For  that  day  did  he  wed  the  princess, 

She  who  pleaded  his  claim) ; 
And  there  were  six  stalwart  brothers 

In  the  gay  and  festive  throng, 
And  low  did  they  make  obeisance 

As  grandly  he  rode  along; 
But  sudden,  amazed  and  awe-struck 

Were  they  when  the  warrior  bold — 
In  his  bright  and  dazzling  armor, 

With  his  flowing  locks  of  gold — • 
Halted  to  give  them  greeting; 

Sudden  they  blanched  with  shame, 
For,  behold,  their  long-lost  brother 

Was  the  Knight  of  the  Golden  Mane .' 

And  none  of  all  this  had  happened, 
And  the  castle,  so  grim  and  gray, 

Might  have  been  the  home  of  robbera 
Unto  this  very  day; 

And  the  poor  young  lad  imprisoned, 


JUNGENTHOK,  THE  GIANT.  20? 

Bound  by  the  iron  chain, 
Had  clambered  the  lonely  mountain 

And  tried  for  the  prize  in  vain, 
But  for  the  giant's  knocking. 

And  from  this  and  from  that  you  see, 
When  the  fairy  asked  help  of  Jungenthor, 

Just  the  way  it  would  be — 
Oh,  oh,  Jungenthor, 

Such  a  mighty  one  was  he  I 


LITTLE    FLOBENCE. 


(J08) 


O  Florence,  little  Florence, 
With  your  face  so  bonny-bright, 

With  your  hair  so  full  of  sunshine, 
With  your  eyes  so  full  of  light, 

With  your  head  so  full  of  frolic, 
With  your  heart  so  full  of  love, 

If  you  could  only  tell  me, 
Could  tell  me,  pretty  dove  I 

Do  the  little  laughing  cherubs 
Slide  down  the  moonbeams  white, 

And  whisper  funny  stories, 
And  talk  to  you  all  night  ?— 

The  funny  bits  of  ballads 
You  babble  now  and  then, 

In  a  sweeter,  softer  language 
Than  other  mortals  ken. 

Do  they  joke  and  jest  so  gleeful, 
From  set  of  sun  till  dawn, 

That  you  lie  and  crow  and  giggle 
Long  after  they  are  gone  ? 


LITTLE    FLORENCE.  209 

Do  they  always  bring  two  dewy, 

Fresh  pieces  of  the  sky, 
And  lift  your  lashes  softly 

And  slip  them  under  sly  ? 

Do  they  pinch  your  cheeks  a  triflo, 

To  make  the  roses  blow  ? 
Do  they  punch  your  chubby  fingers, 

To  make  the  dimples  grow  ? 

Do  they  show  you  sights  of  mischief, 

All  sorts  of  things  to  do 
(Just  to  keep  a  body  busy, 

And  the  world  from  getting  "blue")  ? 

Do  they  tickle  you  at  table, 

And  tempt  you  to  a  spree 
(Just  to  shake  the  mental  cobwebs) 

When  the  Parson's  in  to  tea  ? 

Do  they  pity  the  canary, 

And  come  to  you  and  say, 
'Tis  weary  of  its  prison 

And  wants  to  get  away  ? 

Do  they  hint  the  budding  calla 

Is  bold  enough  to  bloom, 
If  some  one  isn't  careful 

To  pluck  it  pretty  soon  ? 

Do  they  tell  you  on  which  bushes 
Grows  "  de  bestest  zdnzerbread  "  ? 


210  STORIES   AND   BALLADS. 

That  how  to  get  new  dollies 
Is  to  smash  the  old  one's  head  ? 

Do  they  teach  you  model  methodp 
•        For  enslaving  humankind — 
The  way  to  rule  the  father 
And  to  make  the  mother  mind  ? 

And  to  keep  all  of  us  people, 
Who  live  across  the  street, 

Forever  on  the  listen 
For  the  tinkling  of  your  feet  ? 

Alas  !  ere  you  can  answer, 
I'm  very  much  in  fear 

The  cherubs  will  have  finished 
A-whispering  in  your  ear. 

'Tis  cloudy  April  weather, 
There's  a  chill  in  all  the  air, 

And  over  in  the  window 
I  see  the  golden  hair. 

Somebody  must  stay  indoors. 

For  fear  of  catchinsr  cold; 
And  it's  "  defful "  tiresome  business 

For  little  Three-years-old. 

But  the  whole  town  remembers 
How,  not  six  months  agone, 

All  round  the  house  the  curtains 
Were  ever  closely  drawn, 


LITTLE    FLORENCE. 

And  where  erewhile  the  door-bell 

Its  frequent  summons  rang, 
Was  pinned  a  penciled  notice,       . 

To  hush  the  piercing  clang. 

For  little,  little  Florence 

Among  the  shadows  lay, 
In  fever,  moaning,  tossing, 

The  livelong  night  and  day. 

And  oft  was  asked  the  question, 
"Is  she  any  better  now  ?  " 
With  a  choking  and  a  tremor 
One  couldn't  help,  somehow. 

But  she  does  not  remember, 
Of  course — the  blithesome  heart. 

See  !  she  has  donned  her  "  yiding-hood," 
All  ready  for  a  start. 

And — now  !  quick,  no  one  watching, 
Down,  down  the  walk  she  flies — 

And  Betsy  rushing  after, 
With  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

Ha  !  let  us  see  you  catch  her — 

The  wee  Bed  Biding-hood  ! 
A  flash  of  scarlet  lightning; 

She's  in  a  racing  mood. 

Quick,  o'er  the  muddy  crossing 
(The  dainty  buttoned  shoes  ! ) 


212  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Quick,  quick,  around  the  corner  — 
Ah,  she  begins  to  lose  ! 


—  now  !  —  the  race  is  over. 
You  little  midget,  you  ! 
To  laugh  such  bubbling  laughter, 
The  other  must  laugh  too. 

And  now  the  door  closed  on  her, 

As  yesterday,  no  doubt  — 
"  Mamma  must  haf  to  lock  it, 
Or  some  peoples  vitt  get  out." 

Once,  left  alone  a  moment, 
They  couldn't  find  the  child; 

And  the  father's  face  was  ghastly, 
And  the  mother  —  she  went  wild. 

Nor  here,  nor  there,  the  missing; 

The  neighbors,  looking  out, 
Saw  all  the  household  flying 

Promiscuously  about, 

And  joined  the  search,  in  terror, 

And  hurried  to  and  fro; 
"  Oh  !  where—  oh  !  where  is  Florence  ? 
Does  anybody  know  ?  " 

"O  Florence  !  Florence  !  Florence  !  " 

There  came  a  little  squeal 
From  pony  Prince's  manger  — 
'  '  I  be  here  in  de  meal.  " 


LITTLE    FLORENCE.  213 

The  darling  !  may  kind  Heaven 

Preserve  her  safe  and  sound  ! 
For  her  ways  defy  conjecture, 

And  her  plans — they  are  profound. 

But  bless  the  little  cherubs 

Who  ride  the  moonbeams  white, 
And  come  to  her  a-cooing, 

A-cooing  all  the  night ! 

Who  come  to  her  with  manna — 

The  melting  music-mirth 
She  scatters  in  her  pathway, 
.  To  gladden  all  the  earth. 

And  bless  the  little  Florence, 

With  her  face  so  bonny-bright, 
With  her  hair  so  full  of  sunshine, 

With  her  eyes  so  full  of  light ! 

Aye,  bless  you,  little  sunbeam  ! 

Shine  on  a  good  long  while  ! 
The  world  will  be  the  better 

For  the  ripple  in  your  smile  I 


A  CENTENNIAL   TEA-POT. 


Great-great-grandmother,  Winifred  Lee, 
Brought,  when  she  came  across  the  sea, 
A  porcelain  tea-pot  pictured  o'er, 
After  a  fashion  they  knew  of  yore, 
Bright  with  birds  and  with  summer  flowers 
And  fairies  dancing  in  shady  bowers — 
A  pretty  treasure  to  keep  in  mind 
The  pleasant  home  she  had  left  behind. 

Weeks  of  battle  with  storm  and  gale 
Wore  on  timber  and  mast  and  sail, 
And  just  a  league  from  its  destined  goal 
The  ship  was  wrecked  on  a  hidden  shoal. 
Kescued,  the  people  sped  to  shore, 
Saving  their  lives  and  nothing  more. 

But  Winifred,  pacing  the  beach  next  day, 
Dreaming  of  England  far  away — 
A  little  homesick,  and  lone,  and  sad, 
In  spite  of  the  morning  gay  and  glad — 
Saw,  as  she  strolled,  how  the  thieving  tide 
Had  brought  its  plunder  and  scattered  wide, 
And  behold,  in  seaweed  carefully  wound, 

The  porcelain  tea-pot  safe  and  sound  I 
(214) 


A    CENTENNIAL  TEA-POT.  215 

When  years  had  passed  and  the  King's  demand 

Boused  the  people  of  all  the  land, 

And  a  ship's  cargo  was  put  away 

To  steep  at  the  bottom  of  Boston  Bay, 

With  a  rebel  heart  and  a  flashing  eye 

Winifred  laid  her  tea-pot  by; 
"  Till  we  are  granted  our  rights,"  said  she, 
"  I'll  drink  not  another  cup  of  tea." 

(Oh,  matrons  of  this  luxurious  age, 

Who  lightly  turn  from  History's  page, 

Just  for  a  year  or  two  forego 

Your  redolent  draughts  of  rare  Pekoe, 

And  say  if  you  deem  the  self-denial 

Of  our  great-great-grandmothers  not  a  trial !) 

Murder,  and  pillage,  and  cannon's  roar, 
All  along  the  Connecticut  shore, 
Frighted  from  town  the  worthy  dame. 
Next  day  a  barrack  her  house  became, 
And  a  troop  of  Redcoats  helped  themselves 
To  all  they  could  find  on  the  pantry  shelves. 
They  drank  and  feasted,  and  sang  and  swore, 
They  tumbled  the  beds  and  the  curtains  tore, 
And  the  quiet,  orderly,  well-kept  house 
Was  the  scene  of  a  livelong  night's  carouse. 

Homeward  stealing  when  they  had  passed, 
Winifred  gazed  at  the  sight  aghast. 
With  wrecks  of  revel  the  floors  were  strewn, 
With  tables  broken  and  chairs  o'erthrown; 


216  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Delicate  saucer,  and  cup,  and  plate, 
Buined  all — but,  strange  to  relate, 
The  porcelain  tea-pot  standing  still, 
Safe  and  sound,  on  a  window-sill ! 

Long  and  long  have  the  lichens  grown, 
Wreathing  a  slender  slab  of  stone, 
Till  scarcely  the  letters  can  you  see 
That  spell  the  name  of  Winifred  Lee. 
But  the  pictured  porcelain,  handed  down, 
Far  from  the  old  elm-shaded  town, 
An  heirloom  prized,  had  found  retreat 
High  over  a  thronged  Chicago  street — 
There,  in  its  corner,  fresh  and  gay 
As  tho'  it  were  made  but  yesterday. 

When  in  the  night  a  terror  came, 

And  the  great  city  was  red  with  flame, 

And  the  people,  jostling,  gasped  for  breath 

As  they  wildly  fled  from  the  jaws  of  death; 

Little  leisure  or  care  had  they 

Their  household  treasures  to  bear  away. 

Nevertheless,  as  one  returned 
To  where  the  debris  smouldering  burned, 
Where  heaps  of  ashes,  and  brick,  and  stone, 
Were  all  that  remained  of  a  goodly  home — • 
Saving  a  charred  and  blackened  wall, 
Like  skeleton  rising  gaunt  and  tall — 
Glancing  upward,  with  wondering  eye, 


A   CENTENNIAL  TEA-POT.  217 

The  marvelous  tea-pot  did  he  spy, 
Boldly  gleaming  against  the  sky. 

Ah,  old  tea-pot,  gleaming  still, 

What  is  the  magic  that  guards  from  ill, 

From  tempest,  and  war,  and  time,  and  fire — 

All  for  thy  ruin  that  conspire  ? 

Behold  thee,  shining  so  bright  and  gay! 

Old  tea-pot,  art  thou  bewitched,  I  say  ?- 

If  that  be  true,  and  in  some  hour 

Thou  shouldst  possess  thee  of  speech  the  power, 

With  the  vapor  that  curls  from  thy  graceful  spout 

What  prisoned  secret  wilt  thou  let  out  ? 

Wilt  tell  how  gossips  have  lisped  and  chided 

At  little  suppers  where  thou  hast  presided  ? 

Wilt  ever  laugh  at  the  fortunes  told, 

The  willing  credence  of  young  and  old, 

As  the  sibylline  leaves  thou  didst  unfold  ? 

Forsooth,  as  I  watch  thee  blink  and  shine 
In  that  remarkable  way  of  thine, 
I'm  half  afraid  of  thee  ! — No,  not  so, 
Thou  precious  relic  of  long  ago  ! 
Breathing  fragrance  and  friendly  cheer, 
Live  for  many  and  many  a  year  ! 
The  next  Centennial  may'st  thou  see, 
Is  the  toast  I  drink  in  a  cup  of  tea. 
ORANGE,  N.  J.,  1876. 


IN  LILAC   TIME. 


The  bobolink  sung  to  'is  mate, 
The  doves  wuz  softly  cooin', 

I  heard  the  clinkin'  of  the  gate, 
When  Joe  first  come  a-wooin'. 

I  stood  beside  the  lilock  bush 
(The  sun  was  slowly  sinkin') ; 

My  cheeks  wuz  all  to  once  a-blush, 
"When  I  heard  the  gate-latch  clinkin'. 

Fer  Joe  he  wuz  so  good  an'  kind 
(Tho'  such  a  bashful  lover), 

No  truer  friend  you'd  ever  find 
In  all  the  wide  world  over. 

He  sez,  "  Ez  I  wuz  goin'  by, 

I  seed  yer  hair  so  shiny, 
Yer  eyes  ez  blue  ez  summer  sky, 

Yer  cheeks  ez  red's  a  piny ; 

"My  heart  my  throat  come  thrummin'  in, 

The  dusk  it  struck  my  fancy; 
I  couldn't  help  a-comin'  in 

An'  speakin'  to  ye,  Nancy." 
(218) 


LILAC  TIME.  219 


An'  then  'e  sez  —  'e  sez  —  O  me  ! 

My  feelins  gits  unruly  — 
He'd  liked  me  all  along,  you  see; 

I  know  he  loved  me  truly. 

An'  I  wuz  but  an  orphan,  too, 

A-workin'  fer  my  livin', 
Without  a  kith  er  kin  I  knew, 

An'  jest  myself  to  give  'im. 

An'  when  iz  voice  sunk  soft  away  — 
A  kind  o'  tremblin'  in  it  — 

The  words  I  tried  so  hard  to  say 
Kep'  chokin'  fer  a  minute. 

The  lilock  blossoms  wuz  in  blow, 
So  sweet,  with  dewdrops  beaded; 

I  handed  'im  a  bunch,  an'  Joe 
No  other  answer  needed. 

The  year  it  passed,  the  war  wuz  come, 

The  soldiers  fast  enrollin'; 
I  heard  the  beatin'  of  the  drum, 

I  thought  like  church-bell  tollin'. 

I  stood  beside  the  lilock  bush, 
The  shadows  round  me  lyin', 

An'  all  the  evenin'  in  a  hush, 
Except  the  wind  a-sighin'; 

An'  down  the  lane  the  whip-'oor-will 
So  sad  an'  mournful  callin'  — 


220  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

Somehow  it  wuz  so  dreadful  still, 
The  tears  would  keep  a-fallin'. 

An'  then  lie  come — so  brave  an'  strong, 

An'  yet  'is  lips  a-quiv'rin'; 
I  guesst  'is  errant  all  along, 

An'  couldn't  help  a-shiv'rin'. 

0  friend,  the  year  went  round — went  round- 
But  this'll  tell  you  better; 

This  withered  lilock  some  one  found, 
An'  sent  me  in  a  letter. 

Ah,  well !  there's  more  than  me  that  know 

How  sad  is  war,  an'  fearful, 
An'  since  the  good  God  plans  it  so, 

I  must  try  to  be  cheerful; 

But  when  the  lilocks  air  in  bloom, 
An'  when  the  day's  a-dyin',  • 

1  creep  off  to  my  little  room 
An'  have  a  fit  of  cryin'. 


BLUE   EYES. 


Violets,  violets,  blossoming  low, 
Shadowy  grasses  under; 
Blue,  blue  eyes, 
Up  at  the  skies 
Peering,  as  if  in  wonder. 

What  tho'  the  garden  with  bloom  be  sweet, 
Its  mantle  the  wood  renewing; 

And  the  birdlings  glad 

Be  rollicking  mad 
And  musical  in  their  wooing  ; 

What  tho'  the  streamlet  softly  flow, 

Murmuring,  laughing,  grieving, 

And  the  livelong  day 

The  zephyr  gay 
Story  and  rhyme  be  weaving  ; 

Never  the  spring-time  hath  been  complete 
Till,  the  long  grasses  under, 
I  find  blue  eyes 
Up  at  the  skies 
Peering,  as  if  in  wonder. 


(221) 


THE    APPLE-GATHERING. 


(222) 


Apples,  apples,  apples, 

Here  they  come  tumbling  down, 
Yellow,  and  white,  and  rosy, 

Crimson,  purple,  and  brown; 
Seek-no-further  and  russet, 

Gilliflower,  Jersey  sweet, 
Strawberry,  mellow  Fameuse 

Fit  for  a  king  to  eat; 
Pound  royals,  golden  pippins, 

Spitzenbergs  hard  and  red; 
Take  care  !  get  out  of  the  way,  there, 
Or  they'll  plump, 
Cathump, 

On  somebody's  head  ! 

Gather  them  into  the  baskets, 

Empty  them  into  the  bin; 
What  a  luscious  store  to  go  to 

"When  the  winter  wild  sets  in  ! 
Oh,  if  the  apples  Eve  saw 

"Were  as  handsome  as  some  of  these, 
How  ever  could  she  help  saying — 

"I'll  take  one,  if  you  please  "  ? 


GOOD-BY,  LITTLE  BIRD.  233 

Yellow,  and  white,  and  rosy, 

Crimson,  purple,  and  brown, 
Apples,  apples,  apples, 

Here  they  come  tumbling  down. 


GOOD-BY,    LITTLE    BIBD, 


Good-by,  little  bird,  the  storm-clouds 
Are  gathering  gray  and  drear  ; 

At  the  chilly  touch  of  the  Frost-king 
The  sunbeams  have  paled  with  fear ; 

"Wither'd,  the  leaves,  and  fallen  lie  ; 

Sadly  the  winds  of  autumn  sigh  ; 

Good-by,  little  bird,  good-by,  good-by; 
Little  bird,  stay  not  here. 

Good-by,  little  bird,  I  see  thee 

Winging  thy  southward  way 
To  a  sunny  land  thou  knowest, 
Caroling  as  thou  goest, 

Singing  a  blithesome  lay. 
Alas,  and  alas,  no  longer 

Shall  thy  tuneful  voice  be  heard, 
Till  the  leafless  limbs  be  clothed  again, 
And  the  blossoms  gladden  hill  and  glen. 
Good-by,  good-by,  little  bird,  till  then  ; 

Good-by,  good-by,  little  bird. 


HE  WILL  COME  BACK. 


Slow  the  sunset's  glory  fades 
In  a  thousand  shifting  shades, 
Crimson  passing  into  gray, 
Where  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
Mirror,  serve  the  sky  alway. 

From  the  dim,  far-reaching  sea 
Blows  the  cool  wind  merrily, 
Fills  the  snowy  sails  spread  wide, 
And  the  fishers  gaily  glide 
Out  against  a  rising  tide. 

Children  on  the  sea-beach  white 
Watch  them  speeding  out  of  sight; 
Hose,  the  eldest  of  the  band, 
Sees  but  him  who  waves  his  hand- 
Boldest  sailor  in  the  land. 

"All  is  well  when  father  goes," 
Softly  murmurs  little  Rose, 
Listening  to  the  breaker's  moan, 
As  she  wends  her  way  alone 

Up  the  cliff-side  to  her  home. 
(224) 


HE  WILL  COME  BACK.  225 

Thro'  the  night  the  storm-bells  toll, 
And  she  hears  the  thunder's  roll, 
Sees  across  the  heaven's  black 
The  red  lightning's  zigzag  track; 
Still,  "I  know  he  will  come  back  I " 

Broken  spar  and  shattered  mast,. 
By  the  reckless  billows  cast 
On  the  shore  at  early  day, 
As  they,  guilty,  steal  away, 
Find  the  villagers  and  say — 

While  above  them  smiles  the  sun — 
"'Twill  go  hard  with  such  an  one, 
'Twill  be  sad  for  these  and  those, 
But  who  shall  the  news  disclose 
To  the  little  orphan  Eose  ?  " 

Bose,  small  housewife,  mixing  bread, 
When  they  tell  her  shakes  her  head: 
"Do  you  think  I  can  forget 
All  the  perils  he  has  met, 
And  naught  ever  harmed  him  yet  ?  " 

And  the  neighbors  say,  '.'  Poor  child  ! " 
Whispering,  "Grief  has  made  her  wild." 
But  at  eve  white  sails  behold  ! 
Flashing  up  a  path  of  gold, 
Just  as  little  Rose  foretold. 


(226) 


KATY. 


Katy  on  the  doorstep  sat, 
While  her  dimpled  fingers  fat 
Moved  industrious  to  and  fro 
O'er  the  gay  pink  calico; 
For  an  apron  she  was  making, 
All  herself,  with  much  painstaking. 

Pretty  picture  made  she  there, 

Humming  a  quaint  Celtic  air, 

Blue  eyes  on  the  work  intent, 

Cheek  where  tan  and  roses  blent, 

Brown  hair  smoothly  brushed  and  braided, 

Tied  at  ends  with  ribbon  faded. 

Such  a  happy  little  maid, 

Sitting  in  the  porch's  shade, 

Tempted  me  to  questioning, 

Till  she  fell  *a-gossiping, 

All  about  her  country  telling 

And  the  peasant's  mode  of  dwelling  ; 

How  she  came  from  "  ferninst  Corrk 
Tin  miles,"  how  she  used  to  walk 
There  and  back  without  a  rest, 


KATY.  227 

Only,  by  the  way  confessed, 

That  the  miles  "  bey  ant "  "air  shorrter" 

Than  they  are  this  side  the  water  ; 

How  the  houses  are  of  clay, 
And  the  roofs  are  green  alway — 
Thatched  with  turf ;  how  very  sweet 
The  odor  of  the  burning  peat, 
Which  warms  in  winter-time  the  cottage 

And  cooks  the  oatmeal  or  the  pottage  ; 

/ 

How  now  and  then  a  troop  passed  by, 

Fox-hunting,  riding  gallantly — 

Fair  ladies  and  fine  gentlemen, 

Who  dashed  through  field,  and  wood,  and  glen — 

Nor  hedge,  nor  fence,  nor  stream  could  stay 

Their  fiery  steeds  upon  the  way; 

How  on  a  hill-side  near  her  home 
There  stands  a  ruin,  ivy -grown, 
Which  long,  and  long,  and  long  gone  by 
Was  a  grand  castle,  strong  and  high; 
And  now  by  night  the  people  passing 
Make  haste,  for  fear  a  ghost  be  chasing. 

Thus  and  so  did  Katy  chat, 
As  in  the  shaded  porch  she  sat. 
The  little  maiden  twelve  years  old 
With  ready  tongue  her  story  told, 
Better  than  all  the  books  relate  it 
Or  half  the  travelers  can  state  it. 


MAEIE. 


Little  Marie  is  lonesome,    . 

Little  Marie  is  sad, 
Tho'  the  summer  sun  is  shining 

And  the  summer  days  are  glad. 

Ever  she  stops  to  listen 

As  her  weary  task  she  plies, 

Anon  at  the  open  window 
Lingers  with  dreamy  eyes. 

Not  at  the  distant  woodlands, 
.    Veiled  in  a  golden  haze, 
Or  the  miles  between  of  meadow 
And  wheat  and  rippling  maze, 

Dotted  with  elms  and  maples 

That  move  in  the  morning  breeze, 

And  now  and  then  a  farm-house 
Shaded  by  apple  trees, 

The  shallow,  winding  streamlet, 

Where  cattle  lazily  wade, 
Here  in  the  sunlight  flashing, 

Trembling  there  in  the  shade — 
(228) 


MARIE.  229 

Not  at  the  quiet  landscape 

Gazes  she  ;  far  and  dim 
She  sees  the  white  clouds  fleecy 

That  crown  the  horizon's  rim. 

They  are  the  snow-clad  mountains 

She  saw  from  the  chalet  low, 
Where  she  dwelt  in  the  dear  old  Bhineland — 

Ah  !  it  seems  so  long  ago. 

Not  to  the  streamlet's  murmur 

Listens  she  ;  far  away 
Gurgles  a  mountain  torrent 

Over  the  rocks  all  day — 

Gurgles  and  laughs  and  plashes, 

Turning  the  mill-wheel  'round  ; 
Gurgles  and  laughs  so  merry — • 

Hush  !  she  can  hear  the  sound. 

She  and  the  village  children 

Clamber  along  its  route  ; 
Ernest  is  always  leading — 

Hark  !  she  can  hear  him  shout : 

'  Marie  !  I'll  help  thee,  Marie  !  " 

She  reaches  her  hand  to  him — 
Sudden  the  wide  eyes  vacant 
Fountains  of  tear-drops  brim. 

Suddenly  far  and  mocking 
Sounds  the  voice  of  the  brook. 


230  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

She  turns  away  from  her  mountains ; 
Ah,  no,  no  !  she  must  not  look. 

"  Courage,  my  little  Marie  ! " 

Was  it  an  echo,  then  ? 
When  he  went  off  to  the  battles — 
He  never  came  back  again — 

Thus  did  he  say,  her  lover, 

Stroking  her  golden  hair  : 
"Courage,  my  little  Marie  ! " 
Hist !  a  step  on  the  stair. 

Idling  and  dreaming,  Marie  ! 

Quick  to  her  work  she  flies ; 
What  if  the  madame  find  her 

Staring  with  wistful  eyes  ? 

All  in  the  land  of  strangers 

Pity  is  sweet  and  rare. 
Dreary  the  life  before  her, 

Never  a  soul  to  care. 

So,  tho'  the  sun  be  shining, 
So,  tho'  the  day  be  glad, 

Sometimes  she  loses  courage, 
Sometimes  Marie  is  sad. 


"THE    BANJO." 


Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling, 

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, 
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,  ling, 

Ting-a-ling,  ling. 

Under  the  window, 

Down  in  the  street, 
Little  brown  curly  head, 

Little  bare  feet ; 
Pleadingly  lifted, 

Slumberous  eyes, 
Thrumming,  fingering, 

Nimble  hand  flies. 

Ting-a-ling-d'-ling-a-lingi 

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, 
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,  ling, 

Ting-a-ling,  ling. 

Song  of  the  Southland 

Over  the  sea, 
Sing,  little  Napolese, 

Sing  to  me. 

(231) 


232  STOBIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Beautiful  Southland 

Over  the  sea, 
Gayly  and  gladly 

Sing  I  of  thee  ! 
Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling, 

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, 
So  will  I  sing, 

And  so  will  I  sing. 

"Purple  the  mountains, 

Purple  the  wines, 
Sunny  the  hill-slopes 

Clad  with  vines ; 
Sunny  the  skies  are, 

Balmy  the  air, 
Time  floateth  dreamily, 
Dreamily  there. 

Tirra,  la,  la,  la  ! 
Tirra,  la,  la, 
Viva,  viva, 
Italia  !" 

Tattered  cap  held  for 

The  pennies  dropped  down  ; 
Off  he  goes  wandering 

Over  the  town, 
Thrumming,  fingering — 

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, 
Ting-a-ling-a-ling,  ling, 

Ting,  ling,  ling. 


WINSOME    MAGGIE. 


When  winsome  little  Maggie 
Comes  dancing  down  the  street, 

The  people  smile  upon  her, 
And  pause,  and  kindly  greet. 

The  white-haired  parson  gently 
Lays  hand  upon  her  head, 

The  roguish  doctor  pinches 
Her  cheek  so  round  and  red. 

The  grim  old  judge's  visage, 

Forever  in  a  frown, 
Relaxes  for  an  instant, 

As,  passing,  he  looks  down. 

The  matrons  stoop  to  kiss  her, 
The  children,  at  their  play, 

Call  out,  as  little  Maggie 
Goes  tripping  on  her  way. 

Not  e'en  the  dreaded  gossip, 

Who  through  her  half -closed  blind 

Peeps  forth,  with  little  Maggie 
Has  any  fault  to  find. 


(233) 


234  STOKIES  AND  BALLADS. 

When  winsome  little  Maggie, 

With  basket  on  her  arm, 
In  which  her  father's  luncheon 

Is  wrapped  so  nice  and  warm- 
When  she  enters  the  long  workshop 

And  pauses  at  his  side, 
Quick  down  he  lays  his  hammer 

And  turns  in  love  and  pride, 

To  look  into  her  limpid  eyes, 
And  stroke  her  sunny  hair, 

And  jest  and  frolic  with  her — 
Forgetting  toil  and  care — 

For  the  music  of  her  laughter 
And  the  mirth  of  her  replies, 

The  while  there's  not  a  happier  man, 
Or  richer,  'neath  the  skies. 

Ah,  well,  it  is  a  blessing 
To  have  a  heart  so  gay 

That  it  keeps  your  feet  a-dancing, 
Your  face  alight  alway, 

And  that,  like  winsome  Maggie, 
It  seems,  where'er  you  go, 

As  if  the  clouds  had  parted 
To  let  a  sunbeam  thro'. 


A    HAPPY   PAIR.     ' 


"  Contented  wi'  little  and  cantie  wi'  mair." 

Yes,  we  live  down  in  the  orchard, 

Under  an  apple  tree  ; 
We've  got  a  palace  down  there, 

Little  Padoy  and  me. 

"We  built  it  of  sticks  and  timbers 

The  carpenters  threw  away. 
We  worked  at  it  hard,  I  tell  you  ; 

It  took  us  a  whole  long  day. 

There's  a  door  (without  any  hinges), 
And  a  window  (without  any  blind), 

And  a  chimney  (it's  built  of  pebbles, 
And  it  smokes — but  never  mind). 

And  the  roof  (it's  a  little  leaky), 

We  tried  to  make  it  look — 
With  straw  laid  smooth — like  the  houses 

I  found  in  my  picture  book. 

There's  a  stairway  made  of  corn-cobs, 
And  parlor  and  kitchen  and  hall, 

And  sofas  and  chairs  and  tables, 
A-'icl  n,  lookirig-glass  on  tho  wall ; 


236  STOEIES  AND  BALLADS. 

And  in  the  kitchen  a  cupboard 
With  real  dishes  on  the  shelves  ; 

Mother,  she  gave  them  to  us, 
But  the  rest  we  made  ourselves. 

Oh,  just  come  along  now,  won't  you  ? 

It's  only  a  little  way. 
I  want  to  show  you  our  palace — 

How  old  am  I,  did  you  say  ? 

I'll  be  six  years  old  next  summer, 
And  my  wife  she's  going  on  four; 

There  she  is,  waiting  for  me — 
There  by  our  palace  door. 

Padoy,  see,  we've  got  company, 

Now  you  must  be  polite 
And  say  "  Good  morning  "  pretty, 

And  "Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  That's  right. 

And  here's  the  dinner  ready — 

Biscuit  and  sauce  and  tea. 
The  tea  it's  water  and  sugar, 

And  as  sweet  as  sweet  can  be; 

And  the  biscuits — Padoy,  she  makes  'em: 

She  mixes  water  and  flour, 
And  sets  it  to  rise  in  the  sunshine 

For  almost  a  half  an  hour; 

And  then  she  kneads  it  and  kneads  it 
lato  tiny  cakes  of  dough, 


*  " 

s»  •« 


IX 


\ 


$ 


A  HAPPY  PAIR  237 

And  it's  fun  to  play  ball  with  'em, 
Before  they're  baked,  you  know. 

Say,  now,  won't  you  have  some  ? 

Only  one  !    Why,  look  here. 
There's  lots  more  where  these  come  from, 

Ain't  there,  Padoy,  my  dear  ? 

You'd  like  to  look  at  my  garden  ? 

Oh,  yes,  it's  right  out  there; 
Somehow  it  doesn't  do  well, 

In  spite  of  all  my  care. 

The  wind  it  blew  down  my  bean-vine, 

My  radish  it  never  grew, 
The  bugs  they  eat  up  my  cabbage, 

And  my  turnip  and  cucumber  too. 

(Padoy,  run  wash  the  dishes). 

I  wouldn't  have  her  know, 
But  I  tore  up  the  tomato 

Trying  my  bran-new  hoe. 

Ever  quarrel  ?    Why,  no,  I  guess  not. 

Sometimes  she  won't  play  fair, 
And  once  I  got  out  of  patience, 

And  bit  her  and  pulled  her  hair. 

But  she  cried  so  hard,  I  tell  you 

I  was  sorry  as  could  be ; 
And,  well,  I — I — I  kissed  her, 

And  we  made  up,  you  see, 


238 


Candy  !     Oh,  my  1    Padoy, 
Just  look  here,  will  you,  then  ? 

Going  ?    Well,  to-morrow 
Come  and  see  us  again. 


SIGS  VEEGS  OFER. 


Von'd  you  puy  someclings,  laty  ? 

I  haf  not  solt  dis  tay 
Von  shillin's  wort'.     I  kess  maype 

De  folks  dey  no  forshteh. 

I  haf  peen  sigs  veegs  ofer, 
I  comes  vrom  Cherman  land, 

De  lankuache  of  dis  konetree 
I  no  yed  ondherstand. 

"Pints,  neetles,  rippones,  laces," 

All  de  tings  vod  I  sells, 
"Pock't-hankchies,  neckdies,  shpenders," 

I  fer  mooch  careful  dells. 

"  Vod  prize  ?  "    So  den  I  dells  dem. 
Dey  shmiles.     Dey  no  forshteh. 
Dis  lankiiache  ish  der  drooples;— 
I  haf  do  durn  avay. 


SIGS   VEEGS   OFEE. 

So  habbens  I  sells  noding; 

De  dime  koes  py  und  py; 
Und  oop  und  town  I  trafels — 

Of  hunker  I  shall  tie. 

Von'd  you  puy  somedings,  laty  ? 

Oh,  tanks  !    Der  subber  ?    Goot ! 
It  ish  not  since  last  efening 

I  haf  some  leetle  foot. 

I  bays  you  noding  for  it  ? 

Veil  den,  I  sells  you — cheap  ? 
No  ?    Veil,  I  fer  mooch  tank  you. 

Goot  day.     Got  sent  you  sheep  !  * 


THE  CHILD  ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 


Over  the  flowery  meadow 

She  wanders  with  careless  feet, 

Chasing  butterflies  golden, 
Gathering  blossoms  sweet. 

She  talks  a-while  to  the  roses, 
She  grasps  at  the  sunbeams  bright ; 

To  pieces  she  plucks  the  daisies, 
And  scatters  their  rays  of  white. 


*  God  send  you  a  ship ;  i.  e.,  May  you  prosper. 


240  STORIES  AND  BALLADS. 

"  Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la  !" 

She  carols  so  sweet  and  clear, 
Unheeding  the  4;wo  great  armies, 
Gathered  in  silence  near — 

The  two  great  hostile  armies 

Gathered  in  battle  array, 
Watching  the  tiny  creature 

Among  the  blossoms  at  play. 

And  never  a  sword  is  lifted, 

And  never  an  order  heard, 
As  they  list  to  the  silvery  accents, 

Like  the  trill  of  a  blithesome  bird. 

They  listen,  the  grim  old  warriors, 

To  the  voice  so  full  of  glee, 
Singing,  "Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la, 

Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la,  lee  ! " 

And  over  the  rippling  tresses 
Do  they  watch  the  sunbeams  glide, 

Till  many  a  lip  that  quivers, 
The  gray  mustaches  hide. 

And  many  a  heart  beats  faster, 

As  the  thoughts  of  those  thousands  stray 

To  the  little  ones  singing,  playing, 
In  the  homes  so  far  away  ; 

Little  ones  singing,  playing, 
Happy  and  gay  and  free, 


THE  CHILD  ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

Sunny-haired  little  children 
They  never  again  may  see. 

Thus  do  they  wait  in  silence, 
Till  the  child  to  her  cottage-door 

Creeps — as  the  sunshine,  often, 
From  skies  that  are  clouded  o'er. 

Then — as  those  clouds  in  anger 

Meet  with  deafening  din, 
So  the  two  hostile  armies 

The  battle  straightway  begin. 


That  was  hundreds  of  years  since ; 

Scarcely  the  records  tel] 
To  which  of  those  hostile  armies 

The  glory  of  winning  fell. 

But  though  'twas  hundreds  of  years  smoe. 

There  you  may  read,  this  day, 
How  a  little  child,  unwitting. 

Held  fc&em  an  .hour  at  i>ay. 


PINKETY-WINKETY-WEE. 


Pinkety-winkety-wee  ! 

Ten  pink  fingers  has  she, 

Ten  pink  toes, 

One  pink  nose, 

And  two  eyes  that  can  hardly  see; 

And  they  blink  and  blink,  and  they  wink  and  wins, 

So  you  can't  tell  whether  they're  blue  or  pink. 

Pinkety-blinkety-winkety-wee  ! 
Not  much  hair  on  her  head  has  she; 
She  has  no  teeth,  and  she  cannot  talk; 
She  isn't  strong  enough  yet  to  walk; 
She  cannot  even  so  much  as  creep; 
Most  of  the  time  she  is  fast  asleep  •> 
Whenever  you  ask  her  how  she  feels, 
She  only  doubles  her  fist  and  squeals. 
The  queerest  bundle  you  ever  did  see 
Is  little  Pinkety-winkety-wee. 


(242) 


PUSS   IN   A    QUANDARY. 


The  table  is  spread,  my  daughter  dear, 

Let  us  just  climb  up — there's  no  one  near — 

And  help  ourselves  to  the  best  that's  here. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  a  piece  of  trout  ? 

Ow  !  but  the  bones  should  have  been  picked  out. 

Here's  a  savory  dish  of  meat. 

Ah,  this  omelet  is  a  treat ! 

Don't  be  dainty — a  feast  so  gay 

Isn't  granted  us  every  day. 

(Enter  the  master—''  Out  of  that! 

Scamper!  off  with  you!  s-s-s-scat ! ") 

Oh,  the  wearisome  life  of  a  cat ! 

Mew,  mew,  meou,  ow  ! 

I  think  it's  curious,  anyhow. 

Where  people  can  come  and  go  so  free, 

Why,  and  I  wonder,  shouldn't  we  ? 

What's  the  reason  these  two-legged  fry 

Are  any  better  than  you  and  I  ? 


(243) 


LENA    LAUGHED. 


Ah,  pretty  Lena  !  why  is  she  weeping  ? 
What  has  befallen  ?    What  is  it  creeping 

All  the  way,  all  the  way  down  her  pink  cheeks  ? 
One  little,  two  little,  three  little  tearies; 

One  little,  two  little,  three  little  streaks  ! 

One  little,  two  little,  three  little  brothers 
Out  on  a  frolic,  chasing  each  other — 

And  ever  and  ever  so  many  more  ! 
Quick,  let  us  catch  them — poor  little  dearies  ! — 

Here  in  this  handkerchief,  ere  they  fall  o'er. 

Now  let  us  find  them.     Why,  they  have  hidden  ! 
Perhaps  they  were  fairies  that  came  all  unbidden, 

And  ran  away,  frightened,  when  Lena  laughed  out. 
Ha,  ha  !  how  she  scared  them  !  but  very  queer  is 

The  change  that  a  laugh  can  alone  bring  about. 


(244) 


'TIS    THE    APPLES. 


Little  kid, 
Frisking  kid, 
Pretty  as  a  fawn, 
Kuns  to  me  when  I  pass 
Where  he  lies  in  the  grass, 
At  the  early  dawn. 

Little  one,  pretty  pet, 
You  have  not  forgotten  yet 
How  the  other  day  I  fed 
You  with  apples,  rosy -red, 

By  the  garden  wall, 
"Tis  for  juicy  apples  sweet 
You  are  kneeling  at  my  feet, 
'Tis  the  apples  you  love  so — 
Apples,  and  not  me,  I  know, 

Oh,  not  me  at  all  1 


(245) 


FOOLED, 


After  the  long  and  merry  day, 
Little  cousin,  tired  of  play, 

Has  fallen  asleep  in  the  rocking-chair. 
Soft,  let  me  whisper  in  her  ear — 
There  are  better  places  to  rest,  my  dear  ; 

Come,  let  us  go  up-stair. 

She  doesn't  waken.     Now,  eyes  so  bright, 
Under  a  curtain,  out  of  sight, 

Cannot  I  get  a  glimpse  of  you  ? 
Creep,  creep,  creep,  mouse,  creep, 
Cautiously  up  the  dimpled  cheek — 

Peek,  peek-a-boo,  boo  ! 

Not  a  glimpse  !    Now,  then,  little  girl, 
I'll  tickle  your  ear  with  this  stray  curl, 

This  curl  of  your  tangled  hair. 
Now  I'll  count  the  dimples  :    One,  two,  three- 
"  Ha  !  ha  !  " — you  rogue,  you  were  fooling  me  ! 

Fooling  me,  I  declare  I 
(246) 


A   NEW   TOY. 


Sunshine  dances  on  the  floor  ; 

Baby  reaches  after  ; 
Golden  toy,  ne'er  touched  before, 

Wakens  smiles  and  laughter. 

Mighty  orb,  so  wondrous  bright, 

Human  gaze  defying, 
The  round  earth  with  warmth  and  light 

Lavishly  supplying ; 

Making  green  the  forest  wide, 

Blue  the  ocean's  billow, 
And  the  rosy  eventide 

Meet  to  be  thy  pillow  ; 

Clothing  vale  and  slope  and  plain 
With  rare  blossom-treasure,  . 

Purpling  grape  and  rip'ning  grain 
For  the  people's  pleasure  ; 

Driving  chill  and  gloom  away, 
Wheresoe'er  they  may  be  ; — 

Lo,  thou  bringest,  god  of  day, 
Playthings  for  a  baby. 


(247) 


CHARLEY    ON   HORSEBACK. 

••I had  a  little  hobby-horte." 


(248) 


Bock  away  !  rock  away  1 

Here  we  go 
All  on  a  journey— 

Kee  !  ki — oh  ! 

Over  the  mountains, 

Over  the  sea, 
Bock  away,  rock  away, 

Here  are  we ! 

Now  we're  in  China, 
Now  we're  in  Spain, 

Now  we're  in  Texas, 
Now  we're  in  Maine. 

Now  we're  in  London, 
Now  we're  in  Bome — 

Here  we  are  back  again, 
Safe  at  home ! 

Look  at  us,  look  at  us, 

Tim  and  me  ! 
No  greater  travelers 

Will  you  see. 


CRUEL.  249 

Can't  stop  for  questions, 

Oh,  no,  no ! 
Bock  away,  rock  away, 

Off  we  go ! 


CEUEL! 


She  tried  to  scratch  out  both  my  eyes 

(It  is  true  !) 
Tried  to  pull  off  both  my  ears, 

My  nose,  too; 

Scolded  me — I  thought  she  said 
She  would  leave  upon  my  head 

Not  a  solitary  hair — 

Meant  it,  laughing— didn't  care  ! 

Well,  it  rather  hurt,  but  I 
Murmured  not,  nor  made  outcry; 
Let  her  pull,  and  scratch,  and  scold  ; 
(She  is  only  six  months  old). 


CLUCK,    CLUCK! 


Cluck,  cluck  !  come  under  my  wings, 

All  you  poor  little  shivering  things  ! 

It's  cloudy  above  and  muddy  below; 

The  rain  pours  down  and  the  four  winds  blow. 

Coo  bad  the  weather's  so  damp  and  cold, 

And  you,  poor  chicks,  but  three  days  old  ! 

You  haven't  much  chance,  that  I  can  see; 

But  cluck,  cluck  !  come  hither  to  me. 

Yellow,  and  Brownie,  and  Tan,  and  "White, 

Blackie  and  Spot — yes,  six — that's  right. 

Cluck,  cluck  !  hide  under  my  wings, 

And  I'll  keep  you  warm,  you  poor  little  things. 


BOBBIE    AND    THE    BEE 

"  Hark,  the  bee  ivinds  ite  small  but  inelloio  horn." 


(250) 


All  roun'  de  flowers,  you  pwitty  fly, 

All  roun'  de  flowers  an'  me, 
You  sing  so  loud  !    Dess  reason  why — 

You's  happy  as  tan  be. 
Bet  I  tan  tatch  you  if  I  try. 

Zere  !  now  I's  dot  you,  see  ! 
Boo-hoo  !    Do  'way,  you  udly  fly  1 

What  for  you  bited  me  ? 


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